


Wear Your Heart On Your Skin

by theredbook



Series: Wear Your Heart On Your Skin [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Body Horror, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Piercings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skinny!Steve, Tattoos, deaf!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 266,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredbook/pseuds/theredbook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Steve Rogers is a scrawny tattoo artist with more health issues than common sense, looking for someone to replace the piercist who just disappeared (Darcy swears it was alien abduction, Steve insists the guy just got thrown in jail) before his shop loses too much money and James "Bucky" Barnes is an Iraq war veteran coping with a metal arm and the combination of diagnosed PTSD and TBI trying to reengage with the world by filling the position left by the piercist in question.</p><p>After all, nothing could go wrong with this plan, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Step Is The One You Believe In

“How patriotic,” Bucky quipped as he willed the heels of his shoes to sink into the pavement and prevent any further steps forward. 

That was one word for the sign of the shop ten feet away from him, at least. Everything else about the shop was understated – no fluorescent words in the windows like half of the clothing boutiques and sex shops decorating the nearby streets – except for the red, white, and blue shield hanging above the entrance and the black letters spelling out the name above it. He noted the small, handwritten sign placed in the window that informed him there was a discount for veterans and he tried to consider that as a good thing, even though he felt his heart rate kick into high gear at the mere mention of veterans.

“Is it really necessary for them to write out ‘Shield’ above the shield? I mean, that seems like overkill,” he added when his companion didn’t provide a response to his initial remark about the décor.

“James, stop stalling,” the redhead beside him commented. “Besides, we’re in DC, of course it’s patriotic, and you’ll fit right in there.”

Her hand rested gently in the small of his back, encouraging him to take another step closer but not applying any force to the gesture. As always, she was still letting him make the choice on his own. He just wasn’t certain that this was a choice he wanted to make.

When Sam had provided the suggestion the night before, there had been enough vodka in Bucky’s bloodstream to make him think that maybe, just maybe getting a job at this place would be a good idea. If nothing else, he was pretty sure it would score him some major points with his psychologist come their appointment later that week. He’d be praised for taking the initiative and socializing and he’d be reminded that this particular job wasn’t just a good opportunity to improve his social skills and decrease his overall avoidance of the general public but would also improve his fine motor skills and dexterity. 

Now, faced with the task of actually walking into the tattoo shop and doing something as goddamn simple as asking for a job application seemed more intimidating than any of the horrors he’d faced on the front lines.

“You know, Nat, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m 100% certain that I’m not ready for a job,” he said, aiming for the most conversational and relaxed tone he could manage and trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking by shoving them into his pockets. “I mean, I’ve only been living in DC for six months. I’ve still got appointments at the VA every week. You really think a job’s gonna give me enough time off to deal with my shit?” 

The pressure of her hand against the small of his back increased the slightest bit and he registered for the first time that his breathing had become ragged and uneven.

When she spoke, her voice was firm but surprisingly gentle. “James, you need to breathe.” 

His mind immediately filled in the unspoken components of that sentence, “You don’t want to freak out in public. You’re going to make a fool out of yourself if you do. You might hurt someone else.” 

He saw all of it play out like a movie in his head; him sprinting down the street, knocking innocent pedestrians over, the sun glinting off his metal arm as he lashed out at an unsuspecting bystander who’d done nothing more than brush against him. On some level, he recognized that these thoughts were probably more of a function of his fears than representative of her actual intention but they had the effect of encouraging him to take the last few steps to the door. 

At least inside, he’d be away from the crowds. There wouldn’t the chaos of the street, the cars honking in the background, or the drivers yelling out their windows at one another. If he was lucky, the shop might even be mostly deserted and he’d be able to keep his interaction to a minimum. 

The shop was dimmer than he’d expected, enough that he had to blink several times before his eyes adjusted. His feet moved on their own accord and he didn’t relax until he felt the cool cement of the wall against his back. As his vision adjusted and the shop came into view, he was dimply aware of Natasha stepping into the tattoo parlor behind him. The first thing he registered was the art decorating the walls, all done by the same artist judging by the similarity in brush stroke, despite the difference in style and content. He noted the drawing of Sam’s wings hanging behind the register before he noted the dark-haired girl sitting on the stool behind the counter. 

Natasha’s elbow dug into his side and he took the cue and moved forward, clearing his throat when the girl didn’t so much as glance up at him. She startled as though she hadn’t heard the bell ring as the door opened and then fixed him with a friendly smile.

“Hey there,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry, I guess I’d gotten lost in my book.” She held the worn cover of the paperback up for his benefit and he read the title silently. 

‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.’ He didn’t even know how to pronounce the last word or what a Harry Potter might have been but he remembered that social interaction typically required some sort of reciprocity, so after a few beats of awkward – or at least awkward for him – silence, he asked, “Is it, uh, good?” 

The girl audibly gasped and he was pretty sure that he could justify her tone as being one of incredulousness as she asked, “You’ve never heard of Harry Potter?”

“Can’t say I have,” he acknowledged. “I guess I’m missing out, huh?” 

“I’ll say,” she said and then launched into a dizzyingly complicated discussion that involved magic and wizards and someone named Voldemort who was demented, or maybe the demented – or was it dementors? – were something else entirely, he wasn’t quite clear. 

He nodded and made various sounds of acknowledgement that he hoped were occurring in the right places and found that he was increasingly regretting his decision to ever leave Natasha’s townhouse until the door to the backroom opened and a voice called out, “Darcy, are you scaring the clients away again?” 

Whatever the girl – Darcy, he now presumed – said in response might as well have been inaudible to him given that his entire focus was on the figure walking towards him. He’d caught the hint of a Brooklyn accent and all at once it felt like a fist was tightening around his heart as he thought about home. Any thoughts of that faded though, as the man came into view and Bucky’s first thought was that this kid was probably not even 18 years old, although his mind quickly pointed out the flaw in that logic, given that you had to be 18 to work in a tattoo parlor. The kid – no, man - was small, probably a good foot shorter than Bucky if he were to estimate, and scrawny – that was the only word that Bucky’s mind could supply for someone who looked half-starved and whose bones jutted out at all angles – with messy blonde hair and the bluest eyes Bucky had ever seen. His outfit seemed out of place and charming all at once, with his slacks and button-down shirt and those ridiculous suspenders that were probably the only thing keeping those pants on his thin form. The wire-rimmed glasses completed the look, as did the pencil tucked behind his ear, and Bucky couldn’t help noticing that the area of his forearms made visible by his rolled-up sleeves was clear and unmarked by ink, which was something he saw infrequently with tattoo artists.

Bucky realized he was staring and lowered his gaze to the floor, studiously staring at the pattern the tiles made. 

“Hi, Steve,” he heard Natasha say warmly, and he kicked himself because he should have known that she knew this man because she knew everyone in this godforsaken town, and she’d probably also been the one to recommend Sam coming here for his tattoo. 

“Hey, Natasha,” the man – Steve – said easily, clearly comfortable with her in a way that Bucky envied. “I’m guessing this is the friend of yours Sam mentioned when he called earlier?” 

Bucky forced himself to look up and meet Steve’s gaze before his lack of eye contact became a problem and managed to find enough of his voice to say, “Yeah, that’d be me. Sam had, uh, mentioned that there might be a job opening here.” 

Steve’s blue eyes brightened, if such a thing were even possible, as he caught Bucky’s own Brooklyn accent. “You’re from New York too, huh? Definitely a mark in your favor. If you’ve got your piercing license and all necessary paperwork and certificates, there’s definitely a job opening for you,” Steve said. “Our last guy ran off without any warning.” 

“We’ve been taking bets about what made him run off,” Darcy commented. “My money’s on alien abduction but Steve’s boring and thinks that maybe it was just the cops being after him or some shit like that. Want to enter the betting pool? Government conspiracy is still open.” 

“I’ll pass but thanks for the offer,” Bucky said to her, then returned his focus to Steve. “And, yeah, I have all of the paperwork and documentation and that kinda bullshit. I updated everything in the last couple of months too since I hadn’t exactly been practicing for awhile.” 

He punctuated the words by pulling his left hand out of his pocket and flexing the fingers of his metallic hand. There was never a good time to drop that bombshell but seeing as this was unnervingly close to being a job interview, Bucky figured he might as well get it over with. He kept his eyes glued to Steve’s face, noting any shift, regardless of how minor, in the blonde’s expression. Nothing registered on his radar before Darcy pulled his attention away with her exclamation of, “Holy shit.” 

There was a distinct lack of embarrassment in her expression when Bucky’s attention shifted to her and she asked, “Is it real? Where did you get it? How far up does it go? What happened? How’d you lose your arm? Were you born that way? Was it an accident?” and she probably would have continued to ask the questions if Steve hadn’t mildly said, “Darcy, shut up.” 

Reading the look on Steve’s face, Bucky gathered that he was concerned that Darcy’s questions might have offended him, which strangely wasn’t the case. On some level, he knew that he should have been offended but she was so blunt and earnest that he couldn’t find a reason to feel insulted or even uncomfortable.

“It’s real,” he said, the words coming as a surprise even to himself as he realized he was fine answering her questions. “Part of new tech built for veterans who’ve lost body parts, which I guess answers the question about where my arm went.”

At that, there was the slightest shift in Steve’s expression that Bucky couldn’t quite read, but all he said was, “Military?” in a way that made it more of a question than a statement.

“Yup. Sergeant James Barnes. Two tours in Iraq. Would’ve stayed in for longer if I hadn’t gotten myself blown up.” He knew his voice was wooden and rehearsed with no emotion behind the words and he noted that Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in response and almost desperately he added, “I can still work. My arm’s super high tech. I’ve got full range of movement in my hand. The doctors made sure of it.”

Steve raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and said, “Whoa, it’s okay, I believe you. Like I said, we’re definitely in the market for a new piercist and if you’ve got all the necessary licenses, certifications, and paperwork, I don’t see any reason to turn you away. I’ll give you our paperwork to fill out and a copy of the stuff we’ll need from you and if you want to take the job offer, just come back with everything tomorrow and we’ll get you started.” 

Bucky couldn’t control his expression quite well enough to hide how taken aback he was and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Seriously? You’re giving me a job just like that? I could be a serial killer or something.”

Steve’s lips curved into a smile and he said, “That’s why we’ll be doing a background check once we get your autograph on all of the forms. Besides, I can’t believe Sam would’ve recommended you to us if you were a serial killer. He’s a better judge of character than that.” 

“Hey, what about me?” Natasha pointed out. “I’ve known James for almost a decade. If anyone can vouch for his character, that would be me.” 

“That would assume I trust your judgment of character,” Steve retorted with a grin and Bucky stifled a sigh of relief as the two of them started bickering and he was out of the spotlight for the moment. 

Evaluating himself and his performance objectively was still a struggle but overall he felt pleased with the progress he’d made. He’d talked to Steve and told him about his arm without freaking out or checking out. He’d maintained a decent conversation with someone he’d never met before, which was always a leap to make, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d officially been offered a job.

“You two sound like siblings,” he commented to Natasha and Steve and he gave himself a mental pat on the back for rejoining the conversation on his own accord. Natasha’s eyes registered the slightest hint of surprise and Steve just looked amused but before the conversation could move any further, there was the jingle of a bell as the door opened. 

Steve looked somewhat disappointed – or maybe that was just Bucky’s wishful thinking kicking in – although that expression shifted into a smile quickly enough that Bucky did have to wonder if he’d imagined it as Steve greeted the new arrival with, “Hey, I’ll be with you in a moment. Darcy will get you checked in.” 

Bucky was almost certain that there was a component of disappointment as Steve offered him a smile and said, “Sorry, that’s my 1:00. Darcy will grab the paperwork for you in a moment and I hope we’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He offered Bucky his hand. “It was good to meet you, James.”

He cleared his throat at that and corrected, “Bucky, actually. Nat and my family are the only ones who call me James anymore.” 

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, as he shook his hand. “It was good to meet you.” 

“It was good to meet you too,” Bucky echoed automatically and watched Steve greet the client – a girl who looked barely old enough to be in a tattoo shop and had rainbow colored hair and mismatched eyes – and head to the back with her. 

Somewhere between watching the door close behind Steve and being given the packet of forms by Darcy, he noted that his hands were starting to shake again. Natasha’s keen gaze registered the tremble and she easily reached out to take the packet and thanked Darcy before apologizing and explaining that she had a date in a few hours and there were not enough hours in the day – let alone only a few, meager hours – for her to get her make-up and hair perfect. Bucky thought she sounded like a crazy person, to be honest, but Darcy nodded understandingly and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about how ridiculous Natasha’s excuse sounded when it meant that he would stepping outside in a matter of minutes.

He managed to find his voice long enough to thank and say goodbye to Darcy and by that point, everything was becoming blurry and unfocused. After the calm and relative quiet of the store, the world outside was too bright and he found himself flinching away from every person who walked past him. The colors faded together and everything sounded like he was far underwater, distorted and muted, but alternated between that and sudden, sharp, loud noises as his hearing returned and apparently amplified. 

The only thing that kept him moving forward was Natasha’s hand on his arm and by the time they reached the end of the block, he wanted to do nothing more than fall to the pavement, curl into himself, and potentially scream. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped that his instability was not visible to every person he walked past, although he had the strong sense that all eyes were on him and each and every one of those people was fully aware that he was freaking out and losing his shit completely.

He hadn’t even realized that they’d stopped moving forward until the cab stopped beside them and Natasha calmly steered him to the backseat, opening the door for him and getting him settled. She rattled off her address and somewhere in the middle of that, Bucky realized that his hearing was registering at a normal volume again. In the silence that followed, he registered that someone was gasping and a moment later came to the realization – fueled in part by Natasha taking his hand and gently reminding him to breathe – just breathe, James, it’s okay, you’re okay – that the person gasping was him.

He leaned his head back against the seat and automatically placed one hand against his stomach, providing enough of a cue to remind himself how to breathe. As the hand on his stomach started to rise higher, the rest of his muscles unclenched and a faint feeling of euphoria – or perhaps just normal relaxation that everyone else would take for granted – followed. 

His eyes remained closed - he didn’t need or want to meet the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror – and he focused on Natasha’s hand still gripping his own, her fingers lightly massaging the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger. The more his body relaxed and his breathing evened out, the more he became aware of the pounding ache forming at his temples. 

He just hoped they’d reach Natasha’s townhouse before the nausea kicked in.

-~-

The sheets were cool against his skin and he didn’t have to open his eyes to know the blackout curtains had been firmly closed against the sunlight peaking through the windows.

He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten from the cab into the townhouse or from where he was pretty sure he’d passed out on the bathroom floor to his bedroom but he had to admit that he was grateful to find a cool towel pressed against his forehead. Furthermore, given the decrease in pain, he was pretty certain someone had managed to get his medication into him at some point and even more impressively that he’d managed to keep the medication down long enough for it to have an effect.

Footsteps moved across the floor towards him and he registered that he’d probably been woken up by the door opening. For a moment, he considered trying to sit up and quickly rejected the idea and settled on tentatively cracking his eyes open. With the curtains pulled shut, he couldn’t see more than shadows – or maybe that was just the after effect of the headache – but he knew enough to recognize Natasha’s presence before she spoke.

“You awake, James?” she asked softly and the bed dipped down as she sat down beside him. 

He swallowed experimentally and winced as his raw and swollen throat protested the movement. “Something like that,” he managed to choke out despite the fact that each word felt like glass scrapping over the inflamed area. “How long’ve I been out?” 

“Officially or unofficially?” she asked and didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “It’s been a few hours. You were pretty out of it by the time I got you back here. I was a little afraid I was going to have to fireman carry you up the stairs. After that, you were sick for about half an hour and that was disgusting and I had to hold back your hair and then you blacked out on me, which was great and not terrifying at all, and I thought about calling your doctor and probably would have if I hadn’t called him every other time before and completely memorized his spiel, but I managed to wake you up enough that you could walk on your own and I got you to bed.” 

“Fuck,” he said succinctly. “Sorry about that, Nat.”

“Why do you always apologize?” she asked with a sigh, carding her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “It’s not your fault, James. You didn’t ask to get blown up. You didn’t ask to get your brain scrambled. I get it, I’ve read the research, and I’ve talked to your doctor more times than I care to count. I’ve printed out every page I can find on traumatic brain injury and Sam’s brought over pamphlets from the VA.” 

He didn’t have a response to that, which might have contributed to the fact that he just blurted out, “Maybe I’m not cut out to be taking a job right now. If something like this happens while I’m working…” He couldn’t even come up with an end to that sentence. It would be embarrassing. It would probably lead to him losing his job. It might scare the customers. It might lead to expressions on Steve’s face that Bucky didn’t want to consider at this point in time. Expressions like disappointment. Disgust, even. 

“James, don’t think about that right now.” Natasha’s voice was gentle, although there was an underlying edge of frustration. “You’re exhausted and drugged and not thinking clearly. Get some rest and we’ll talk whenever you wake up, assuming you’re more functional by then.”

“Fine,” he said, because anything else would have meant arguing and the one thing he didn’t have was enough energy to argue. Both of them knew that fine was not a word that applied in any way, shape, or form to the current situation but Natasha let the matter drop for the time being.

He heard her sigh again and then the mattress shifted as she stretched out beside him and curled her body around his, her arms wrapping securely around his chest and her face burrowing against his shoulder. His tired mind readily focused on the sensation of her breath warming the back of his neck and he reached blindly for her hand with his flesh-and-blood one. Natasha was safe, comfortable, comforting, just like she always was for him and to him, and just as always matching his breathing to hers calmed his racing thoughts. Between that, his exhaustion, and the drugs still flooding his system, he slipped into a dreamless sleep within a matter of minutes.

-~-

As the final customer of the day left, Steve flipped the sign to closed and then rested his head against the glass with a tired groan. Either the shop had gotten more popular or Tony had been actively recruiting any and everyone in DC who might want a tattoo in the wake of losing their previous piercist.

“You look beat as hell, boss,” Darcy noted in the silence that followed the last jingle of the welcome bell for the day and her pressing play on the iPod SoundDock behind the register. Steve tried not to groan at Darcy’s choice in music – danceable and upbeat wasn’t exactly his style when all he wanted was to fall into bed and not get out for several days – and he just reminded himself that he could retreat to his office and then to his apartment once Darcy was out of the building.

“It’s been a long day,” came his response, although he was pretty sure the thumping beat and Darcy’s lip-syncing overshadowed his words.

He left her to close up the display cases upfront and add up the money for the day, grateful that since hiring her, he didn’t have to pull the double-duty of working and record keeping. His body went on autopilot as he straightened up his desk, making certain to tuck both of his sketchbook into his knapsack before he could forget, and then focused on sterilizing and discarding his equipment and material as needed.

As he worked, his thoughts moved to the young man with the shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes who’d come in earlier that day. Sam had given him a heads up during their session the previous day that his friend with the piercing license and prior experience had been a veteran but he’d neglected to mention the robotic metal arm or the haunted look in his eyes, neither of which bothered Steve but concerned him. He knew everyone coped in different ways – for instance, three 2-hour sessions to finish Sam’s back piece and the occasional beers at the bar up the street that had followed – had taught Steve that Sam’s method of coping was to hide everything behind a smile and jokes. For some reason, he’d assumed Sam’s friend would be the same, and maybe he would use humor as well, although Steve had a feeling that unlike Sam’s sunlight and openness, Bucky’s humor would likely be darker and biting. 

“What’s on your mind, boss?” Darcy asked and Steve nearly dropped the packets of needles in his hand that he’d been setting up for the next day as her voice broke through the silence. He realized that the music from the front was off and wondered how long Darcy had been standing there, watching him.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me boss? Or sneak up on me?” Steve asked. 

“At least five times a day,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll aim for a new record of ten tomorrow. Seriously though, you looked like you were thinking hard about something… or someone.” 

He tried to ignore the hopefulness of the last part of the sentence. Darcy had been studiously trying to set him up with someone, anyone, since the two of them met during freshman year.

“Someone,” he confirmed. “Namely our potential new hire.” 

“You’ve got good taste,” she said with a grin. “Tall, dark, and cyborg. I like it.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Not to date, Darcy, but to hire. Assuming all of his qualifications check out, I don’t see why we wouldn’t take him on. We need a replacement for Peter before we lose too much business.”

Darcy came over and nudged Steve in the ribs and teased, “You liiiike him” and Steve rolled his eyes and said, “I like Stark not deciding to close the shop because we’re not offering piercings.” 

Steve did have to admit that there was something intriguing about Bucky but saying that he liked him was definitely an exaggeration, totally an exaggerations. He was curious about him. He was concerned about him. He was hoping that Bucky would take him up on the job offer because that would mean working almost every day with him.

But he definitely didn’t like him.

He totally didn’t like him.

Not at all.

Not even a little. 

-~-

When Bucky eased into consciousness several hours later, his sense of time was scattered all to hell and he couldn’t have said whether it was later in the evening, the middle of the night, less than an hour since he drifted off to sleep with Natasha’s arms around him, or already the following day and he was missing the meeting at the tattoo parlor – Shield, his exhausted mind supplied for him – and out of job before he even started.

He tentatively uncurled himself and rolled onto his back, keeping his movements as slow and steady as possible, and felt an immediate flood of relief when there was no accompanying lurch in his stomach and there was no sensation that an icepick had lodged itself in his forehead. He refused to assume that the headache had passed but every step towards full movement and interaction with the world that didn’t reignite the symptoms was probably a step in the right direction.

He reached over to the other side of the bed – Natasha’s side, if he were to be honest, since no one else including himself ever slept there – and found the sheets cool to the touch, indicating that at least several hours had passed since Natasha never left before she was certain he was comfortable and sleeping soundly. Cracking his eyes open provided no initial information; with the blackout curtains across the windows, it could have been the middle of the night or the middle of the day for all he knew. The clock was marginally more helpful, given that he refused to angle his head enough to see whether AM or PM was checked, but at least the numbers told him that it was 8:30 and he was willing to bet that it was still night.

Before considering full movement, he closed his eyes again and took inventory of his body the way both his doctor and psychologist had taught him to. There was nothing wrong with his legs or arms, save for the dull ache always consistently present in his left shoulder where the metal arm connected with the rest of his body. The entire area from his stomach to throat ached from his earlier bought of vomiting but he longer felt sick, which he considered a small victory, and although his head felt heavy and his thoughts were fuzzy, there was no acute pain. 

All in all, he was probably ready to face the world and before he could convince himself otherwise, he reached over and hit the switch on the lamp beside the bed, careful to keep his eyes closed since he’d learned the hard way what happened if he didn’t take this process slow and steady. Natasha kept low-watt bulbs in the lamp, designed to aid his body in the readjustment process, and when the glow behind his eyes didn’t trigger any response, he tentatively opened them and audibly sighed in relief when his eyes focused clearly and there was no migraine hitting the front of his skull like a freight train.

Sitting up took marginally more effort, given that even though he kept his movements small and gentle, the rush of blood to his head knocked out his vision and there were several moments where he couldn’t tell if he was about to black out again or his body was just responding the way most people’s bodies did in response to that kind of movement. The fact that there was no accompanying dizziness and that he could still rely on the rest of his senses provided some reassurance – there were the sheets beneath his fingers, faint talking from the living room, and the lingering smell of peppermint from Natasha’s attempt at aromatherapy – and that was enough that he willed himself to remain upright until his vision cleared. 

Everything from that point became easier, he only stumbled a bit when he tried out standing, and he almost felt like an average human being by the time he reached the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. Even though the lights out there were brighter, his headache remained at bay and his body almost felt like his own and under his complete control by the time he made it out to the living room.

The question of whether it was day or night was answered for him when he took inventory of the occupants of the living room. Natasha was there, curled up on the couch in a pair of black pajama pants and an oversized Led Zeppelin t-shirt that he was pretty sure had belonged to him at some point, holding a glass that he was pretty sure was filled with vodka and not water in one hand and a hand of white cards in the other that she was studying intently. 

On the other end of the couch was a familiar face, lit up with a sneaky smile that suggested mayhem was about to unfold. If Bucky looked hard enough, he could almost see the curve of a wing on the shoulder closest to him, made visible by the fact that Sam was wearing a white tank top – probably to show off his recent piece of body work – and Bucky tried not to resent the fact that the wings radiating from Sam’s shoulder blades had been part of what led him to that shop earlier today.

Finally, the real clue to the time of day came with the unkempt blonde sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the side of the couch despite the fact that the position gave Natasha full access to the cards in his hand. Bucky knew there was no way in hell Clint would’ve been awake at this hour if it was morning, at least not without at least five empty coffee pots spread out around him and another in his hands, so that answered that question at the least.

Sam glanced up immediately at the sound of Bucky’s footsteps and greeted him with a smile, “Hey, Barnes, how’s the head?”

“Better,” Bucky acknowledged as he positioned his tired body as comfortably as he could in one of the thankfully overstuffed chairs because Natasha never did anything half-assed and would only have the best, most comfortable furniture she could find. He studied the array of cards on the table and unnecessarily commented, “Cards Against Humanity, huh? Who’s winning?” 

“This is Cards Against Humanity, the game where everything’s made up and the points don’t matter,” Sam informed him.

Natasha snorted and noted, “That’s ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway’ and you’re only saying that because you’re losing.” She eyed Bucky carefully for a moment before adding, “There’s pizza if you’re hungry.”

Bucky’s stomach lurched in a way that made him wonder if he was starving or about to be sick again and then audibly growled and he decided that eating might be a good idea. Still, he stalled for a moment by saying, “I’m surprised there’s any left, with Sam and Clint here.”

Natasha smiled in a way that most would categorize as predatory but after 10 years Bucky had discerned that it was more protective and less cannibalistic than it appeared and said, “The boys were trying to impress me tonight. Clint brought pizza, Sam brought sushi. Sam won this round and apparently Clint only requires a pizza and a half to himself.” 

“I’m a growing boy.” Clint handed over the pizza box with the accompanying warning, “There should be half left but I can’t vouch for the current level of warmth.” 

Bucky found that he could’ve cared less about the temperature after the first bite and his stomach didn’t offer any protest, he all but inhaled the first piece and actually felt almost entirely human by the time he reached for the second one. The game continued, providing the most offensive entertainment he’d had since being discharged from the military, and he’d almost have categorized his current emotional state – his psychologist was big on him identifying his emotions in the present moment – as relaxed until Sam brought up the job interview.

“So, Nat said you got the job,” he commented and Bucky all but choked on the sip of Coke he’d been taking and then tried to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of asphyxiating on soda.

“Yeah,” he said, hoping his voice sounded as causal as it did in his head. “Seems like they’re in major need of my specific skill set.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there,” Clint commented and Bucky tried not to resent the fact that most of what went through Clint’s head tended to be said aloud.

“Is there, James?” Natasha asked, her gaze cool and appraising and he groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, when he finally stopped trying to edit and reedit the statement in the hopes that Natasha might understand where he was coming from rather than challenge him. “While we were there, yeah, I was thinking of going through with it but given that I couldn’t even handle a 15 minute interaction, I’m not sure I could handle a full day at work. Throw that in with the fact that I never know when I’m going to have a flashback or dissociate or when my brain’s going to decide that it’s time to put me down with a headache or make me dizzy enough to black out… I don’t know, Nat, it seems like a bad idea. I mean, I’m kinda fucked up.” 

“You’re a veteran,” she said seriously. “That doesn’t make you fucked up and people should respect that.”

“I think before you make any decision, you should talk to Steve,” Sam chimed in. “He’s a good guy, really understanding. Let him know about your conditions, explain how they might impact your work, and then you’ll at least know if it’s actually a problem.”

“Or just a problem I’ve come up with in my head, yeah, I know, I know,” Bucky muttered. “Do you really need to practice your psychoanalysis on me, Wilson? I know you’re in training but I get enough of that at my weekly head shrinking sessions.”

“If you actually paid attention in those sessions, you’d know that no one at the VA is using psychoanalysis,” Sam retorted. “Let me know the last time your doc tried to get you to free associate or used dream analysis on you.”

Bucky didn’t bother to ask exactly what free association was because sometimes Sam was a walking psychology encyclopedia and while that would have pleasantly derailed the conversation, he didn’t feel like thinking about psychology for any longer than he had to. 

“Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll talk to Steve when I meet with him tomorrow” and then, because he didn’t want to think for any longer, he said, “Deal me in to the next round” and Clint obliged.

Maybe he’d wake up with a repeat of the day’s headache and have an excuse for not going into the shop in the morning.

-~-

No such luck.

Bucky kept up a steady stream of insults to his body as he walked down the street, cursing his treacherous brain for coming up with ways to incapacitate him at the most inconvenient times but not when he actually needed to get out of something. Natasha kept a hand on his elbow to keep him grounded – his right one, of course, because the lack of sensation in his metal arm made it hard to feel the pressure and contact in the same way – as she steered him through the crowd and into the shop.

This time, Steve was sitting behind the front desk and Darcy was nowhere in sight. His feet were braced against the edge of the counter and his sketchbook was resting on his knees. He seemed intent on the drawing, to the point where Bucky wondered if he’d even heard them enter, but without looking up he said, “Sorry, I’ll be with you in a minute, Bucky.”

Natasha had stepped away and was admiring some of the art on the walls, which left Bucky to awkwardly clutch the manila envelope in his hand and fight the urge to start reviewing all of the paperwork to make sure he’d included all of his certifications and signed everything. Thankfully, before he could consider actually acting on that impulse, Steve closed his sketchbook and carefully placed it on the counter before hopping down from the stool he’d been perched on.

“Like I said, sorry about that. I was working on a commission I’d been stuck on and I had a burst of inspiration I hadn’t wanted to lose.” He offered Bucky a smile that Bucky managed to answer with what he hoped was a smile of his own. “If you want to head back to my office, we can go over the paperwork and you can let me know if you have any questions.”

Bucky shot a somewhat panicked look at Natasha – how could he go back there on his own and try to explain everything to Steve? – and Natasha studiously ignored him but commented, “I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo, Steve. Any books I could look through for ideas?” 

In the minute or so that followed, as Steve got Natasha set up with several of his books of artwork, Bucky tried out every deep breathing and grounding technique he could think of, and by the time Steve led him to the back, he was at least certain that he wasn’t hyperventilating yet. The office itself helped, although it was tile and sterile in a way that still made Bucky think of hospitals and doctors and pain – and he couldn’t let those thoughts go any further or all the grounding techniques in the world weren’t going to bring him back – the walls were decorated with artwork and there was a little fountain in the corner and soothing music in the background. For the moment the overhead fluorescent lights were off, allowing the room to be lit by several lamps spread across the room, and the overall effect was closer to Bucky’s psychologist’s office than it was to a hospital.

“I found that a lot of my clients are a little nervous coming in,” Steve commented. “I’ve tried to make it as comfortable in here as possible without sacrificing any safety precautions. I’m also prone to migraines, so I try to keep the overhead lights off as much as possible when I’m not working. The fluorescent lights get me every time.” 

And with that admission, Bucky’s entire body unclenched and an audible sigh of relief escaped his lips, which meant he immediately and automatically said, “Shit, I’m sorry” and then, “I just… I get that. I mean, literally I get that, as in migraines, too.” He realized he was stumbling over his words and swallowed hard before continuing. “That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have all the paperwork and everything but, well, you… you already know that I’m a vet and that I lost my arm. The thing is, my arm wasn’t all I lost.”

He managed to keep his gaze on Steve’s face, determined to read Steve’s expression as he blurted everything out. “Because my arm was such a big deal, that was all they focused on at the beginning. The doctors knew I’d gotten knocked out, although they weren’t sure if that was just the shock or blood loss or whatever, but their biggest concern was making sure I didn’t die or get an infection. I didn’t exactly want to stay in the hospital for longer than I had to, so I downplayed everything else going on with me. Who cared if I was getting headaches or had nightmares, right? I figured it was nothing and it would go away.”

“I faked it for awhile too until…” and there Bucky stopped himself for a moment because what the hell was he doing telling his whole life story to his potential employer? “Shit, man, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all of this bullshit. To make a long story short, I ended up in the hospital again. This time they diagnosed me with PTSD and TBI. Traumatic brain injury. I’ve come a long way over the past couple months, I see my psychologist every week and my doc about once a month, sometimes more if it’s a bad month, so I’d need to work my schedule around those appointments. I also… get triggered sometimes… have flashbacks… and other shit. Plus the headaches I already mentioned. They can get… bad, especially if I’ve been overstimulated all day. Bad as in puking, getting dizzy, sometimes even passing out.”

He was breathing hard by the time the last word left his mouth and he waited for Steve’s response, keeping his eyes locked on Steve’s own blue ones, determined to see any flicker or change that might clue him into what Steve was thinking. He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen disgust, although pity was debatable, but there also wasn’t any disappointment, so maybe Steve wasn’t about to tell him that he’d made a terrible mistake considering hiring Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words from Steve and Bucky felt his heart drop. Clearly he’d misread the signals. But before he could bring himself to say, “That’s okay, thanks for taking your time with me” or whatever weak response he’d manage to choke out over the lump in his throat, Steve continued. “That’s a lot for you to deal with. I can make sure Darcy keeps her music down, so that doesn’t trigger you or anything, and if you ever need some time to calm down or you can feel a headache coming on, I’ve got an apartment upstairs. Just let me know and I’ll give you the key and reschedule any of your appointments. You can crash on the couch for as long as you need and if you’re able to come back to work, great, but if not you can just rest until you feel up to leaving. I definitely don’t want you leaving if you’re in pain or triggered or anything.” 

“Seriously?” Bucky blurted out before he could stop himself. “I mean, are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I mean, what’s the point of having an apartment over the shop if I can’t use it, right?” Steve asked with a smile. “Just let me know what you want us to do to help you. Give me an idea of what helps to calm you down when you get triggered and what doesn’t help and for liability’s sake, I should probably get something in writing about how you want us to respond if the worst case scenario happens and you pass out in your office or something like that, since my instinct would probably be to call an ambulance and I’m guessing you’d rather I didn’t do that.” 

Bucky couldn’t even find the words to respond to that and he wondered for an instant if he might have been dreaming because there was no possible way that his potential employer had not only accepted all of his limitations but provided solutions to them, taking into account Bucky’s own feelings and preferences. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. “I mean, really, really serious? You wouldn’t rather hire someone who might not dissociate or black out in the office or need you to reschedule an entire afternoon of clients because of medical issues?”

If Bucky had any doubts about the sincerity of Steve’s offer, the tone of Steve’s voice as he answered Bucky’s questions put all of that to rest. “You’re a vet, Buck, and everything you just described is a result of the service you gave for this country. I personally would be honored to have you working at Shield.” 

Once the initial shock of Steve’s words started to fade, Bucky realized that his lips were already curving into a smile and he idly wondered if this was his first real, genuine smile in months as he pushed the envelope full of paperwork towards Steve and asked, “When do I start?”


	2. You're A Heart Attack In (Blue) Hair Dye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky attends a therapy session, there is a hair dying party, an incident at a coffee shop occurs, and Bucky starts his first day of work at Shield.

“I start tomorrow,” Bucky explained. 

In the silence that followed, he identified every possible way he could have better presented that information to the man sitting across from him.

Instead of dwelling on those thoughts, he shifted his attention to the rest of the room and focused on what Natasha had introduced to him as the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Game. His psychologist labeled it a grounding technique. He was pretty sure he wasn’t about to check out; there were none of the usual signs and his level of stress wasn’t that high, but despite their disagreement on the name, both Natasha and his doctor had agreed that practice was necessary to actually use the skills when he was triggered or unstable.

5 colors he could see – the white of the contents of the sand garden on the table, the gold of the frames decorating his doctor’s various degrees and certification on the walls, the black interspersed tiles on the floor, the blue of the couch across from him because fuck sitting on a couch in therapy sessions, and the green of the chair he was sitting on. 4 things he could touch – was counting the sand garden cheating? (he decided it wasn’t), the fabric of the chair (still not cheating), the frayed threads from the holes in his jeans that were starting to get a little out of hand if he were to be honest with himself, and the worry stone made from Connemara marble in his hand that Natasha had brought back with her during her last trip to Ireland (and why she was in Ireland still wasn’t entirely clear to him since she’d told him that she’d love to tell him when he’d asked but that she’d have to kill him if she answered). Pleased with how quickly he’d made it through that round, he continued to the 3 things he could hear, counting off the ticking of the clock, the muted sound of voices from the nearby offices, and the waves of the sound machine preventing anyone outside from clearly hearing the session. By the time he knocked off the 2 things he could smell – the cologne he’d tossed on that morning and the faint smell of lavender in the office – and the 1 thing he could taste – the peppermint he’d snagged from waiting room – he was feeling pretty good about how easy that particular technique was coming to him. 

“How are you feeling about the job?” Dr. Jones asked. 

Bucky tried not to make a face. He’d been in treatment long enough to know that the goal of that question was to get him to identify his emotions in the present moment, but something about that phrasing also sounded so cliché every time he heard it.

“I’m feeling good,” he answered, and before Dr. Jones could challenge him about what exactly ‘good’ felt like, he offered the explanation. “I mean, I’m a little nervous because I haven’t worked since I got back, but I’m excited because I like the place and the employees I’ve met so far. I had a lot of fun when I worked at a tattoo parlor before shipping out. If this place is half as good as that one was, I think I’m gonna enjoy myself.” 

“So, you’re feeling excitement over the possibilities this job will offer but nervous because, in some ways, this is a new experience for you,” Dr. Jones clarified. 

Bucky nodded. 

“What specifically are you feeling nervous about?”

Bucky hesitated and was immediately caught in the act by Dr. Jones, who didn’t give him a chance to censor himself. 

“What’s going through your head right now, James?”

“That I don’t know how my issues are gonna effect me working there,” he acknowledged. “I mean, Steve – he’s the boss – knows about what’s going on with me and came up with some ways of helping me deal with this shit, but there are things that I didn’t mention because they’re on me, not on him. I’ve got a pretty good system at home for dealing with my memory issues – lists and calendars and all of that – but I guess I hadn’t thought about how to transfer that over to work or what areas I would need to be worrying about with work. Plus it’s the little things. I’ve been worrying since I left about the lack of digital clocks I’ve seen in the shop. I still can’t tell time with an analog clock. It just gives me a headache.”

He took a breath and then offered a grin. “Any suggestions there, doc?”

-~-

Bucky met up with Natasha in the waiting room. He felt a little less apprehensive than he’d felt walking in there. Dr. Jones wasn’t big on advice normally – teaching skills and issuing challenges to Bucky was his typical mode of operating when it came to the trauma – but when he shifted to the neurological issues, the doc was a lot more willing to provide recommendations. Bucky hadn’t understood at the beginning why Natasha had pulled all the strings she could to get him to see Dr. Jones – he hadn’t understood words like ‘neuropsychologist’ or ‘trauma specialist’ - but after six months, he could see the benefit of having a doctor who could treat both the PTSD and TBI.

“You look happy,” Natasha said as they stepped outside. “I’m pretty sure in the past few hours I’ve seen you smile more than you did in the last six months.” 

“Clearly I just needed to go back to work,” he responded. “Apparently being locked up in your townhouse has done nothing for my mental state.”

“Please,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “1) You are not locked in there and I drag your ass outside at least once a day to socialize or bring the party to you when you’re being stubborn, and 2) at least it’s better than that hellhole you were living in when you first moved here.” 

“It wasn’t like I had a ton of money to blow on it, Nat,” he pointed out. “Rent’s not cheap in DC.”

“There were cockroaches and rats and if there was ever a place that was going to have a cockamouse, that would have been it. We’re not even going to talk about the crack den up the street or the broken front door to the building.” She shook her head. “I should have set that place on fire.”

“That’s arson,” he said mildly. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Pretty sure I don’t care.”

He grinned. “That’s why I’ve checked the paper every day to see if that building’s still standing. You’ve shown remarkable restraint so far.” 

“It’s only been six months,” she responded, with an answering grin of her own. She nudged his arm and ducked into a nearby doorway. “C’mon, your appointment took forever, I’m starving, and Clint says this place has the best burgers in the city. I can’t say I trust his judgment after the time he told me we were going out to get the best pizza in the world and went as far as to claim that he’d found pizza in DC superior to pizza in New York and the end result is that I almost died of food poisoning, but I figure I should humor him.”

It occurred to Bucky, as he followed after her, that there was a time when food after a therapy session would have been an impossibility, or when any restaurant or diner that he hadn’t been in before would’ve left him frozen and unable to walk inside. As much as he struggled to give himself a pat on the back, he had to admit that all the signs pointed to him actually making some progress.

-~-

At least if progress meant fighting off a sudden wave – or, if he were to be honest, waves - of crippling anxiety. Progress probably did at least include the fact that he made it through lunch, and remained present long enough that he was able to acknowledge that for once Clint’s taste was acceptable and the burgers were pretty damn good. It wasn’t until they got back to the townhouse that his thoughts started shifting from one imagined catastrophic situation to another. If he weren’t concerned about whether or not his intended outfit was appropriate, or worrying about his current lack of piercings and if that would ruin his rep as a piercist, then he was convinced that every slight twinge in his body was the sign of an impending headache that would render him useless for the next day. 

When those worries failed to fully materialize or he was able to actually recognize what Dr. Jones called ‘cognitive distortions’ and modify those thoughts, he moved to all of the “what ifs” he could come up with – what if a car backfired outside of the shop and he thought it was a gunshot; what if someone randomly set off fireworks during the day and he thought there were explosions; what if alien creatures inexplicably decide to wage a war on DC starting on his first day of work? By the time he got to that last one, Natasha told him to shut the fuck up and that they were going to meet Sam and Clint at the bar down the street, with the disclaimer that under no circumstances was Bucky getting shitfaced prior to his first day of work.

Over the past six months, the Irish pub at the corner had become one of Bucky’s ‘safe places’ where he could go despite the crowds and the amount of people he didn’t know – and therefore were not safe – because of how often he and Natasha frequented the location. It was a popular spot for locals and the other students at G.W. University, which meant that he’d met the majority of Natasha’s friends by this point, and generally knew 80% of the people in the bar, give or take 10% depending on the night. All of that led to a level of comfort that many other places – especially bars - lacked for him.

As he stepped outside of the townhouse, waiting for Natasha to lock the front door behind them, he took a deep breath of the night air. He felt a faint chill as the air entered his lungs. A good sign, as far as he was concerned, given that he’d spent the entire summer drowning in sweat due to his complete and utter inability to wear short sleeves outside of Natasha’s townhouse or Sam’s apartment. For once, he wouldn’t be overheating with his long sleeved shirts and hoodies and jackets. Every attempt at desensitizing himself to having his arm fully visible in public had led to embarrassing situations where he started choking and gasping for air or, on one memorable occasion, apparently came close to passing out on the street, and two others where he didn’t lose his shit completely but went unresponsive and vacant for a good hour and none of the grounding techniques were able to bring him back.

He’d gotten to the point where he could keep his arm uncovered when Natasha had friends over at the townhouse, or when he was at group therapy sessions at the VA, or even when he reached the bar, but only once he was settled in the back of the room and Natasha had offered assurances that she would pick up the drinks from the bar for him and rip the throat out of anyone who dared to comment about the prosthetic. 

As he waited, he automatically tucked his hands into his pockets. Once Natasha finished securing the five locks in her door, she looped her arm through his own as she stepped past him. It made them look like any young couple out for an evening on the town. If he practiced mindfulness and remaining in the moment, he could almost pretend that everything was normal and nothing had changed since the two of them were in high school.

He still wasn’t quite sure how to categorize their relationship at this point. When he’d shipped out, they’d agreed to end things but she’d sent him letters and packages throughout his tours and she’d been the first person he called when he was coherent enough to even think of, let alone make, a call. She’d been on the next flight out and stayed with him intermittently for the majority of his recovery, even visiting him when he ended up in the psych ward for a couple weeks after the flashbacks and nightmares became more than he could handle. He knew she hated those kinds of places but that hadn’t stopped her from visiting him daily during that time. 

Since he’d moved to D.C. and subsequently into the townhouse with her, their relationship had been far from platonic but definitely not exclusive. He was reasonably certain there was something going on with her and Sam and, while he couldn’t quite put his finger on the nature of her relationship with Clint, there was definitely something going on there, too. 

Bucky didn’t mind. He definitely wasn’t ready for anything close to a relationship if he were to be honest with himself, but sometimes he did wonder if he might want to start applying Dr. Jones’ discussions of boundaries to the relationships in his life, at least enough to get some clarification about what boundaries, if any, there were.

The Irish pub wasn’t fancy or upscale by any stretch of the imagination, but it was still charming. The wood might not have been the best quality, the tables of the finest material, yet it was still well-made and even more importantly, well-maintained. A bar stretched across one wall, with gleaming bottles hidden behind the well-worn, polished counter. At this hour, every seat at the bar was filled. Bucky noted a few familiar faces. 

There was Thor and Loki, whose father was an ambassador from Iceland, which was the only explanation for their strange names, seated beside each other. Thor, who appeared to be fairly intoxicated and, judging by the empty bottles in front of him, on his sixth or seventh drink, was laughing uproariously and had a girl on each arm. Loki, for his part, looked bored. Bucky hoped that boredom didn’t escalate since in his thankfully few experiences with Loki, when he was bored, bad things happened. 

Clint was there as well, either ordering a round of drinks or flirting with the waitress. Bucky noted that there were several bandages and bruises on his face. He wasn’t quite sure how Clint managed to hurt himself as frequently as he did and any attempts to gather that information were frequently met with, “I fell down the stairs” or some other excuse. Bucky tried not to worry about the guy but it was hard, although he figured Natasha would have intervened if something serious was going on with him. She’d always been protective of her friends.

There were a few other familiar faces at the bar, but Bucky couldn’t quite put the names to the faces. He figured it would cause more harm than good to try. The rest of the room included both tables and couches, and Bucky quickly spotted Sam, who’d apparently taken up shop at their favorite couch in the corner of the room. The first night at the bar, Bucky had been verging on crawling out of his skin within seconds of arriving and the request to leave and return to the townhouse was on the tip of his tongue when Natasha had politely shoved him onto that couch and placed a beer into his hand. Initially, he’d thought his increased relaxation stemmed from the alcohol, which was being greatly helped by the lack of food in his system, but after an hour he’d registered that Natasha was a genius in her selection. The sectional sofa was pressed up against the two walls, meeting at the corner with no gaps behind it, and it provided a complete view to any and all activity throughout the bar. It allowed Bucky to monitor for any potential threats his mind could create and prevented anyone from approaching him from behind or even the side. 

Though he’d become increasingly comfortable at the bar and probably could have branched out to other seats, the sofa had continued to unofficially officially belong to them. Bucky was quite content to disengage from Natasha and take a seat beside Sam while she caught up with Clint to order some drinks. 

“Heard you officially accepted the job,” Sam said. “Congrats, man.” 

“Thanks to you, I’m finally gainfully employed,” Bucky said. He shrugged off his jacket and studiously ignored the glint as the neon lights reflected off his metal arm. “I never would’ve gotten the position if you hadn’t let me know there was a job opening and given me a recommendation.” 

“Not a problem. I saw it as a way of killing two birds with one stone. Steve needed someone to take the position. You needed a way to get money. Win-win, right?” He looked Bucky up and down. “I’m surprised though. Figured you’d be trying to look more of the part. I half-expected you to show up with streaks in your hair and all of your old piercings back in place.” When Bucky gave him a surprised look, he admitted, “Nat showed me some of the pictures of you from high school.”

“She would and you’re hilarious,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. “Besides, as much as I’d like to decorate my body again, I kinda need the job to get the paycheck so that I can pay someone else to do my piercings. I might have done half of my piercings myself in high school and I can still jam metal through other people’s bodies no problem, but I can guarantee any attempt to use this arm to recreate the work I did to myself back then is going to end in disaster and probably a trip to the hospital.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you haven’t added streaks to your hair,” Sam pointed out. 

“Give me enough shots of vodka and maybe, just maybe, you’ve got a deal.” 

“Stop trying to get out of work tomorrow,” Natasha said, as she took her seat on his other side. She offered him a pint of Guinness. “You’re not drinking vodka tonight. Only beer. Can’t have you wasted and/or hung over for your first day because if that happens, I will ignore your sounds of misery and distress, pick you up and carry you into the shop, and leave you there to explain to Steve that you fucked up. I can guarantee you don’t want that.”

She took a sip of her own drink before adding, “Besides, I already bought the bottle of hair dye. It’s ready and waiting back at our place and Sam’s already offered to help out, haven’t you, Sam?” 

By the time she finished speaking, half of Bucky’s Guinness was gone and he had resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be a very, very long night.

-~-

By eleven, the coffee shop was quiet and almost empty, enough that Jane had started sneaking Darcy and Steve the timed shots of espresso she had to pull every two hours and would have had to dump out otherwise. Technically, the wasted espresso was not meant for customer consumption, but Jane figured no one else would care at this hour. The only person in this city more addicted to caffeine than Darcy was Clint and he hadn’t shown up yet this evening.

Darcy and Steve had been keeping her company since ten, with Darcy’s beverage of choice being a large drink made equally of ice cream, coffee, and chocolate and caramel syrups, while Steve sipped carefully at a large decaffeinated peppermint tea. Jane kept an eye out to make certain that none of the espresso shots she offered to Darcy went to Steve – the last thing she needed was to call an ambulance during her last hour of the shift because she’d given the kid a heart attack via jolts of caffeine.

She was just starting to shut everything down when the tall, muscular blonde walked in. She stifled a groan. Having a customer come in with just enough time to order but inevitably pushing closing time back was her nightmare scenario for every evening. Still, Jane fixed a polite smile on her face and took his order of two cups of coffee – one apparently for him, one for his dark-haired companion – and tried to ignore the fact that he was clearly drunk, drunk to the point where his companion was the one who paid for the drinks because the blonde couldn’t even figure out where he’d left his wallet. At the least, he was apparently at least taking the initiative to try and sober up and she had to commend him for that.

Somehow, despite the fact that she was officially off of work in an hour, she had the feeling this was going to be a long night.

-~-

“Tilt your head back more, you’re getting water everywhere.”

“C’mon, James, I know you’re flexible.”

“Tasha, I didn’t need to know that about him.”

“You would be envious of his abilities, Sam.” 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what exact steps had occurred to lead to him half-sprawled against the side of the bathtub, his body contorted and his head halfway under the facet, with Sam on one side of him and Natasha on the other. Despite Natasha’s best efforts, more of the water had gotten onto them than on his hair and all three were soaked, with Bucky being the only one who at least had the presence of mind to take off his shirt before the blue dye went into his hair.

He’d been cut off after one drink due to Natasha’s insistence that he couldn’t get drunk and that there would be a hair dying party back at her place that evening. Clint had finally joined them after about fifteen minutes of either flirting with the waitress or the bartender, Bucky hadn’t been quite sure which. He had declined the offer and said he had work to do. When asked what exact work he was referring to, he’d had difficulty identifying anything in particular, first claiming to be working on a paper not due for another four weeks and then studying for a test that was two weeks away. Natasha had given him a suspicious look that Bucky assumed would be leading to ‘conversations’ later but let him go without further argument.

Personally, Bucky thought Clint was a genius for escaping this train wreck. With Sam’s hands supporting his lower back and Natasha’s keeping his neck steady as she tried to wash the remaining dye out of his hair, things were at least a step up from their initial attempts, but he couldn’t wait until the water ran clear and he was free to escape.

“You look like an angry cat,” Sam commented. “I’m just waiting for you to start hissing and the claws to come out.” 

“I look nothing like a cat,” Bucky said. “You didn’t have the honor of meeting the hell beast Natasha had when we were younger. That thing was a demon.”

“That thing’s name was Kisa and she wasn’t a hell beast,” Natasha said. “She loved you.”

“She loved using my legs as a scratching post. I’m telling you, Sam, never let her get a cat. It’ll end badly.” 

There was a barely stifled shriek at the end of his words thanks to the fact that Natasha had radically altered the temperature from comfortably warm to ice cold. 

He decided to keep his mouth shut until they had finished.

-~-

“What’re you working on?” Darcy asked for the tenth time as Steve hunched over his sketchbook, his pencil moving furiously over the page. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the table – an after effect of all of the caffeine she’d consumed, he insisted – as she tried to sneak a peek. 

In retrospect, he probably should’ve paid attention to his drawing and the fact that Darcy understood nothing about personal space and privacy. He hadn’t exactly meant to start drawing their new piercist, it had just kinda happened. He hadn’t even realized whose likeliness he was drawing until he registered the look in the eyes – haunted and sad, the way Steve had registered the first day he met him, but with the glimmer of hope and life he’d seen when Bucky accepted the job offer. 

Thinking about Bucky in that way was a mistake, anyhow. From what Steve had seen of his interaction with Natasha, the two of them were a couple. He’d caught Natasha taking Bucky’s hand as the two of them left the shop earlier that day and the looks exchanged between them were far from platonic. Besides, even if Bucky wasn’t involved with Natasha and even if he had a proclivity towards guys, Steve doubted Bucky would give him a second look. He could count the number of men and women who’d had a thing for short, scrawny asthmatics that looked barely old enough to see an R-rated movie on one hand.

“Steeeeeve,” Darcy complained. “You’re never this secretive about your artwork.”

For an instant, he considered telling her the truth and showing her the drawing and admitting that he couldn’t get the thought of Bucky out of his head. Before he could make a decision that poor – after all, Darcy never would have let that go and spent her entire time she was supposed to be working trying to set the two of them up together – there was a crash from the other side of the coffee shop.

Given that his eyes had been fixed on his sketchbook, he wasn’t positive whether the coffee mug had fallen or been flung onto the floor but given that the muscular blonde quite cheerfully proclaimed, “Another!” he had to wonder whether the latter might have been the case, particularly given that the blonde’s dark-haired companion had buried his face in his hands as though pained.

As Darcy gasped, Steve took the opportunity to shut his sketchbook and shove it into his bag before Darcy could ask to see the drawing again. He hoped she was suitability distracted with the scene unfolding in front of them. 

As far as he was concerned, Jane had remarkable composure, although he noticed her take a deep breath before walking over to the table and calmly inquiring about what had happened. The dark-haired companion explained that his brother was drunk and that his behavior was not quite as strange where they came from, which seemed to clue the blonde into the fact that his behavior hadn’t exactly been normal, given that he offered an apology.

Steve had assumed that was about the end to this interesting saga, until Jane returned with a mop and the blonde got to his feet and insisted on cleaning up for her, politely asserting that he had to make amends until Jane handed the mop over to him. 

“Huh, well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Darcy noted. “I mean, where else but in DC would you even remotely see a drunk blonde god or frat boy – I’m not really sure which, but have you seen those muscles? – cleaning up for the damsel in distress barista after making a mess. That’s manners. Not making the mess, of course, but actually caring enough to clean it up. Probably not a frat boy, then.” 

Steve breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the god in question for the distraction as Darcy continued talking at a mile a minute and her attention moved fully away from the contents of his sketchbook.

-~-

Three hours later, it was nearing midnight and Sam had headed out to catch the last metro train of the evening back to his apartment. Natasha had cured Bucky’s restlessness by tossing on ‘The Little Mermaid,’ a throwback to when Bucky had first been discharged and found himself triggered by 95% of movies he attempted to watch, which meant that carefully screened Disney movies became the only source of entertainment for him. 

He was stretched out on the couch, his head pillowed against her legs, and the sensation of her fingers carding through his hair might have been the most comforting thing he could have asked for. Natasha always seemed to know what would be best for calming him and what he needed at any given moment. He was reasonably certain that without her, he wouldn’t have made it this far without ending up in the psych ward again, or worse, though he tried to keep his thoughts far from that latter option.

Natasha had been studiously examining the strands of blue hair mixed in with his darker ones while Bucky focused on Sebastian explaining to Ariel that under the sea was where it’s at, when she suddenly said, “I’m proud of you.” 

Startled, he responded quite eloquently with, “What?” 

“I’m proud of you,” she repeated. Her voice was soft and gentle in a way Bucky wasn’t all that used to hearing from her. “I don’t think you see it as clearly as I do, but you’ve come a long way, James. I remember how things were in the beginning, probably better than you do, through no fault of you own, of course. It wasn’t just the physical injuries or the trauma, but I guess it was all part of that, I just felt like it went deeper. When you called me when you got to the hospital in New York, you’d remembered your promise to me – remember, I made you swear that you would come back - and the first thing you told me was that most of you had come back. I know you were talking about your arm but that wasn’t the only thing you left over there.”

“What do you-?” he started to ask and Natasha cut him off before he could even finish the question. 

“You weren’t the same person when you got back and you’re still not and I figured that would be the case. I know you can’t go through that sort of thing and still be the same person at the end of it. But you were so sad and angry and scared and stuck in your own head for months and sometimes I was afraid you weren’t going to come out of that hole you’d fallen into.” 

“You did though and you’ve come a long way,” she continued after a beat of silence. “You could’ve given up, and don’t tell me you couldn’t you always had a choice, but you didn’t. You kept going to therapy and you used the skills you learned there. You stopped hiding out in your room and you made friends and now you’ve got a job. I know you’re scared shitless but, James, this is also the happiest I’ve seen you since you came back.”

“You’re a good guy,” she said and he could tell that she was wrapping up. “Maybe you don’t always see it, but you are, and it’s good to see you smile again and actually mean it.” 

“Now you’re just being sappy,” he muttered. He averted his gaze and hoped that his cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt.

“And you’re just as good at taking compliments from me as you were in high school,” she noted, and then nudged his shoulder. “It’s late and you need sleep. Can’t have you exhausted on your first day of work, can we?” 

“I’m not tired,” he protested.

She smirked. “I can help with that.”

He might have thrown out another protest, but then her lips covered his own and he couldn’t think clearly enough to even consider arguing.

-~-

On his self-care checklist, Bucky was managing about 70% by his estimates. He’d managed to sleep throughout the night, thanks to Natasha’s assistance. He’d been almost obsessively meticulous in cleaning himself up and getting dressed. He tried on way too many outfits before Natasha came and limited his options until he could choose between them. He finally settled on a Pink Floyd t-shirt and flannel combo and chose a pair of jeans that was somewhere in the moderate range of the ripped up spectrum. 

The main self-care area he failed at achieving was eating breakfast. He tried, which he knew was the most he could ask of himself, but he was frustrated to find that he couldn’t manage as much as a bite without questioning whether the food might just come back up. He found the same problem with coffee but determined that was probably a good thing, seeing as he didn’t need anything that would increase his heart rate. After all, he still had difficulty separating normal physiological reactions from trauma related ones.

Somehow, he managed to get everything he needed together and get out the door in enough time to reach Shield at a decent hour. Natasha dropped him off at the shop, pressing a brief kiss to his lips and promising she’d be back at the end of the day, before she headed off to her morning classes.

Before stepping inside, Bucky took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He hoped his body language wasn’t telegraphing every ounce of nervousness he was feeling at the moment. At this hour of the morning, the shop was still thankfully still lacking in customers. He was greeted with the faint sound of music coming from the sound system behind the counter and while he wasn’t certain how to classify the music or who sang the song, the melody was soothing. 

The choice of music apparently belonged to Darcy, who was in the process of unlocking the front jewelry cabinets and placing the different tattoo design books strategically around the lobby. She glanced up when he approached and offered him a smile before launching into speech at a mile a minute. “Morning, handsome. I’m liking the new hair. It’s a good look for you. Steve should be down in a minute. If he hasn’t already told you, he keeps kinda strange hours here since he has to balance his class schedule with work, so you’ll see him go in and out all day. We talked last night and decided that we’d give you a couple hours in the morning to organize yourself, set up your office, and look through all the shit Peter left and make sure you’ve got everything you need, and hopefully start giving you some appointments by the end of the morning, early into the afternoon.”

Somehow Bucky’s brain managed to process all of those words, despite the rate at which they were delivered, and he gratefully said, “Thanks for that. A couple hours to get myself sorted out and settled would be great.” 

“Don’t mention it. Steve also asked me to keep from booking you too solid for the first couple days. He figured you’d want to ease into it.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed in response to that reassurance, and he registered for the first time that he’d been keeping the muscles tensed and kicked himself for that failure in body scanning. “Tell him thanks for that,” he said.

Darcy nodded to an area over his shoulder. “You could always tell him yourself.” 

Bucky turned around to find a grinning Steve standing in the entrance to the hallway that led to the stairs to his apartment and the offices. He was dressed a bit more casually this time around, still in a button-down shirt but he’d traded in his slacks for jeans. “Morning, Buck” he said. “To what do I owe the thanks?”

“For giving me at least a few days before completely overwhelming me with work,” Bucky responded, unable to hold back an answering grin of his own. “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” 

“Don’t mention it, it’s the least I can do.” He stepped forward and offered Bucky an envelope. “The keys I promised you are in there, one for the shop and one for my apartment in case you ever need to head up there when I’m not around or if I’m in the middle of a session.”

“See, you just need to stop there because if I keep thanking you for everything you’ve done for me I’m gonna sound like an idiot,” Bucky said as he accepted the envelope. 

“In that case, how about you spend awhile getting the office set up and then let me know if there’s any materials you need, so we can hold off any further thanking until those supplies are received?” Steve suggested. 

“You’ve got a deal,” Bucky said, and offered his hand to Steve to shake on it. 

-~-

An hour later, the office was nearing the level Bucky would categorize as organized. The previous piercist’s personal effects had been removed and Bucky had spent awhile inventorying the abandoned supplies, ascertaining that he wouldn’t need to request further materials for at least a few weeks. The material was well kept and already fairly organized, but Bucky threw his own spin on the organization. He made sure every bin was labeled to prevent him forgetting from one moment to the next and then scrambling to remember where he’d put something. That was the last thing he needed during a session and surefire method of panic an embarrassment.

He added several pieces of paper to the wall, including Shield’s weekly hours and Steve’s personal schedule accounting for hours spent in class or otherwise out of the shop. He then placed seven blank daily schedules, each laid out with a breakdown by each half hour of the day, and labeled one for each day of the week before highlighting the hours he was expected to be in the shop. 

Behind the small desk in the room, he added a calendar with cats on it – courtesy of Natasha, who he’d determined was attempting to convince him that adding a new demon spawn with fur to the townhouse was a good life decision – and a few small prints of Van Gogh’s artwork that he thought would at least add some color to the room. On his desk, he set a digital clock, angled so he could readily check the time from anywhere in the room, and a small sand garden that he’d bought after discovering the magical, calming effects of the one in Dr. Jones’ office. 

He took a seat in the desk chair, leaning back and surveying his work. He felt a slight flicker of an emotion he might have even categorized as pride. Dr. Jones might have offered some of the recommendations to help with his memory issues, but he’d been the one to figure out how to implement them and how to use them. 

For that moment, he felt ready to handle whatever this new job threw at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow build, I know, but the Steve/Bucky love is coming.
> 
> The next few chapters are written but still in the editing phase and my goal is to be putting out one a week, or so.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)


	3. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky survives not just one but several days at work, goes on a lunch date, teaches a dance lesson, and comes to an unsettling revelation.
> 
> In other words, this is the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so very much for the lovely comments. They have really made my week. <3 
> 
> My hope is to get the next chapter(s) up around Saturday!

Steve had alternated between classes, appointments, and checking in on the shop’s new hire throughout the day. While nothing had gone horrifically awry in any of these areas, he was admittedly ready to head up to his apartment and call it a night by the time the last customer left. On the plus side, for as tired as Steve felt, Bucky seemed to have handled the five walk-in clients without any difficulty.

Steve left Darcy to finish locking up. He lightly knocked on the doorframe to Bucky’s office before peaking his head in. Bucky stood by the wall, making several notations on one of the pieces of paper that hung there, but he glanced up when he heard Steve’s footsteps and offered a smile.

Steve studied Bucky’s face intently to see if there were any signs of exhaustion or strain. “How would you rate your first day?”

Bucky tossed his pen onto the desk. “Good. I like the atmosphere in here. It’s relaxed and you and Darcy are easy to work alongside.” 

“You say that now but I’m guessing you won’t feel the same way when Darcy goes on one of her Britney Spears kicks,” Steve said. “There are only so many times you can hear ‘Toxic’ before you go crazy.” 

“See, if that’s the worst I have to cope with, I think I can handle this place. Clint’s over enough that I’ve heard that song more times than I’d care to count,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously though, I know it’s going to get harder when I’m working a normal schedule but I’m not worrying about it. Today felt good and you’ve done a lot to make me feel comfortable about being here.” 

“Seriously, don’t mention it,” Steve said earnestly. “Like I said before, every accommodation we’re making for you is because of the service you gave for this country. It’s an honor to have you working here. There’s a reason we give discounts to veterans. I figure you guys have already given enough, it’s time someone gave something back to you.” 

“Yeah, I had wanted to ask about that,” Bucky said, somewhat tentatively. “I mean, I saw the sign in the window and Sam had mentioned it before and it… I’ll just be honest and say that it surprised me. Even in DC, that kinda thing doesn’t exactly happen all that often.” 

Steve was quiet for a moment as he debated whether or not Bucky’s first day was the time to bring up his own personal history. He only thought about it for a moment though; after all, Bucky had already given Steve a rundown of some of the biggest parts of his own history. The least Steve could do was offer the same.

“My dad was in the military. He was killed in action during the Gulf War. I never really got to meet him, but my mom told me the stories.” He tugged on the chain around his neck until the dog tags he kept hidden under his shirt became visible. “I still wear these. Haven’t really taken them off since my mom gave them to me when I was a kid.” 

“Shit, man, I had no idea,” Bucky said.

Steve quickly shook his head to stop him before he went any further. 

“Of course you had no idea.” Steve grinned the slightest bit. “I hadn’t exactly mentioned it. I tried to enlist myself when I was eighteen, but the recruiter took one look at the list of medical issues in my file and refused to sign off. After that, I just tried to figure out how I could give back in little ways and since I got here, offering the discount was about the best way I could come up with to do something helpful.”

Bucky looked serious. “Speaking as a vet, those little things aren’t little to us.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that, or the concerned and somewhat appraising look on Bucky’s face, which meant he was somewhat grateful when Bucky’s cell phone chirped at him. Bucky glanced down before reaching for his bag and ruefully saying, “That’s Natasha. She’s waiting for me outside.” He patted Steve on the shoulder as he walked by. “See you tomorrow, boss.” 

Steve just rolled his eyes. “You’re calling me boss already? Darcy’s clearly rubbing off on you.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and graced him with a bright smile. “Alright, alright, see you tomorrow, Steve.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck,” Steve murmured. 

Steve wondered why he’d bothered when the words were just swallowed up by the sound of the door shutting behind him.

-~-

While Natasha agreed to walk with Bucky to the shop the second day, she convinced him to try walking home on his own that evening, with the promise that he could call her if he needed anything. Despite his initial apprehension that seemed to crawl and churn through his guts the entire morning, aided entirely by the fact that his first walk-in appointment didn’t happen until afternoon and he was left with nothing but his thoughts, his worries magically disappeared by lunchtime.

Or, to be more appropriate, by lunchtime he didn’t have any time to dwell and ruminate on his worries.

Darcy had run off to classes around that point and Bucky was organizing and reorganizing everything in his office, just to have something to do, when there was a knock on the doorframe and a familiar voice asked, “You hungry?” 

He glanced up to find Steve standing there. He looked surprisingly uncertain, as though he expected Bucky to say no. Something about Steve’s obvious nervousness put Bucky at ease. “I wouldn’t say no to food. What did you have in mind?” 

“There’s a coffee shop nearby,” Steve explained. “I mean, I don’t drink coffee but I figured you might and their lunch menu is pretty good. They’ve got different sandwiches and soups. Pretty wide variety.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Bucky ignored the flash of worry that the thought of going to an unknown coffee shop in Georgetown at the height of the lunchtime rush immediately raised in him. He’d handled worse, he could handle that, and if he couldn’t, he supposed he’d have the chance to see just how much bullshit Steve was able to handle from him. “We don’t need one of us to stay here and watch the shop though?” 

“Nah, we usually shut down around lunchtime anyways,” Steve said. “Most people around here know that we’re students, so they get that we have to close down at different times during the day based on our schedules and availability.”

Bucky didn’t hear much after the first sentence because his focus had already shifted to identifying anything and everything he might need before thankfully remembering that he’d been keeping everything in his bag in case of moments like this. That kept him from wondering if he had his wallet and phone, the journal he kept to make notes in so that he wouldn’t forget things, and most importantly – second, the least, to his phone since being able to call Natasha was his lifeline – his medication.

He realized he’d gone silent and that Steve was studying him curiously. He offered a wry smile. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I get lost in my head when I try to remember things.” 

“No worries,” Steve said with a genuine smile. It made Bucky feel like at least Steve didn’t think he was stupid, even if he couldn’t quite convince himself at times. 

He exhaled slowly, in as much an attempt to relax himself as to prepare for whatever was to come, and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

-~-

Steve kept a close eye on Bucky as they walked to the shop. He tried to gauge any changes in body language that might provide a measure of Bucky’s current level of comfort. He noted that Bucky kept his gaze focused straight ahead and the posture of his shoulders was a strange mix of predator and prey; one moment Steve was almost afraid that Bucky might launch himself at one of the nearby pedestrians, the next he was more concerned that Shield’s new piercist might turn on his heel and bolt back to the shop.

Somehow, they made it to the coffee shop without incident. Upon seeing the long line and noting that Bucky was already shifting his weight from foot to foot, he suggested, “How about you snag the table over there?” He pointed to one in the corner where Bucky could keep his back to the wall.

“You sure?” Bucky asked, though Steve could see his relief.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll grab a menu from the front and bring it over. That way you can read it and text me your order.” 

Bucky looked immensely grateful at the suggestion and readily accepted. As Steve waited in line, he kept a close eye on him. Bucky read and then reread the menu several times before texting in his order, and kept his phone out afterward. Steve guessed that was his method of distracting himself, given that Steve was only halfway to the counter at that point.

On the plus side, Jane was working the day shift and register at that point. Steve saved a couple seconds through being able to order ‘the usual’ before adding on Bucky’s order. 

Jane raised an eyebrow at the addition. “Increased appetite?” 

Steve shook his head and nodded to the corner table.

“I brought the new hire along with me today,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Oh, him.” Jane craned her head the slightest bit to get a better look. “The one you and Darcy mentioned the last time you were in here. I can see what Darcy meant; he’s definitely easy on the eyes. How’s he been working out?”

“He’s good. Still adjusting but he’s a hard worker.” Steve had followed Jane’s gaze over to the table. When he glanced back at her, she had a sly, knowing smile on her lips. 

He rolled his eyes. “Not you too. No one is playing matchmaker.” 

“Heard loud and clear,” Jane rung up the order and gave Steve the receipt. “The food should be up in a couple minutes. Tell your friend he’s got good taste. He picked the most underrated sandwich on the menu that doubles as my personal favorite.” 

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Steve promised. He made his way towards the table, hoping against hope that the register would still be slammed and there wouldn’t be the possibility of Jane bringing over their food. Granted, Jane actually had a verbal filter, unlike Darcy, but Steve didn’t feel confident that she wouldn’t say something to embarrass him.

Bucky put his phone down when Steve slid into the chair across from him. “Thanks. I, uh, I appreciate it. What you did.” 

His eyes didn’t quite meet Steve’s as he spoke.

Steve just lightly said, “Probably not as much as I appreciate you defending this table for me. Nothing worse than ordering food and having nowhere to sit.”

Bucky’s response to that was a slight smile. All at once, Steve found himself unable to think of what to say next and realized, for the first time, that he hadn’t thought about this potential consequence of going out to eat lunch with Bucky. Lunch meant conversation and while Steve prided himself on being a reasonably good conversationalist, he had no idea what to say that wouldn’t come out as stupid.

His mind flipped through the things that he and Bucky had in common, at which point he found his answer, and relaxed. “How’re you finding DC?”

“It’s not New York,” Bucky acknowledged. “But it’s okay. Still a city, which is nice, and having Nat and Sam already here to ease the transition helped too. I wasn’t sure at first, since I’d been staying with my parents in New York, and none of us were certain I was ready to move out on my own, especially to a whole new place, but I managed. My doc up there thought the programs running at Walter Reed would be good for me and, really, aside from my family, I didn’t have many ties to New York anymore.”

He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then asked, “How’d you end up here?” 

“I was still a kid,” Steve said after a beat of silence, as he tried to formulate his thoughts. “My mom got a job offer here, so we moved and just never left. I thought about going back to New York a few times, but I couldn’t leave my mom. She’s got some health problems. I figured it’d be best to stay nearby in case she ever needs anything.” 

“That’s a rough situation to deal with, but commendable of you,” Bucky said. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you end up tattooing anyways? No offense, but you don’t exactly look the part.”

Steve laughed at that. “I don’t, I know. To be honest, I’d never really thought about tattooing before. I was in my first year at Corcoran and some of my pieces had earned me a place in the gallery. Tony Stark just so happened to be viewing the gallery during that show and for reasons still unknown to me, he made me an offer that night. Said he liked my work, wanted to know if I’d ever thought of becoming a tattoo artist because I made the kind of art people would want to put on their bodies, and then offered to buy me a shop and put me through the training and apprenticeship process. At the time, I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it. I figured he was just saying all of this to impress the girl he’d brought with him, but a few days later we met at a coffee shop and started signing the paperwork. The rest is history.” 

“Stark, huh?” Bucky sounded intrigued. “What isn’t that guy involved in? He – or at least his company - was the one responsible for the tech that led to my arm. If nothing else, he had enough pull in the process that Natasha was able to use a favor he owed her to get me bumped up to the top of the list to be eligible for the prototype.” 

Steve’s response was cut off by the arrival of their food – brought by Jane, of course, because when could Steve possibly be lucky? She gave Bucky a cool, appraising look as she put the plate down in front of him. 

“You must be the new piercist,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jane. I’m at this place 90% of the time, and given how caffeine-addicted Darcy is and her tendency to drag others in here with her, I’m guessing I’ll be seeing you again.”

Bucky offered her his hand – his right one – and said, “I’m Bucky. It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Steve couldn’t help but notice Bucky’s increased comfort with social interaction. It was a stark contrast to his initial appearance at the shop. He found himself hoping that this was a sign the job was doing some good for him and helping him to step out of his protective shell.

-~-

After going out to lunch and managing several back-to-back appointments without any difficulty, Bucky felt more than ready to walk home on his own. He said goodbye to Steve and Darcy and followed the increasingly familiar path of blocks and set of turns that would bring him back to Natasha’s townhouse. He mentally congratulated himself for reaching home without incident as he turned the key in the lock and stepped inside.

He found Natasha and Clint sitting on the floor of the living room – and he immediately questioned why they were on the floor, given that there was plenty of good furniture around to sit in – with Clint’s back to the doorway and Natasha sitting in front of him. She was signing to him in a way that Bucky wanted to classify as surprisingly rapid, but given that Natasha was fluent in more languages than not, he had to assume she’d learned sign language somewhere along the way and was quite easily showing off. 

He stepped into the room and noted that Clint glanced back at him despite the fact that even Natasha’s body language shouldn’t have clued him into the fact that there was someone standing there. She hadn’t looked up or given any other indication. 

“How’d you know?” Bucky asked.

Clint grinned and turned back to Natasha to sign something to her. 

“He could feel the vibrations in the floorboards,” she translated for Bucky before signing something else to Clint, who sighed and went to turn his hearing aids back on. “He was helping me practice.”

“I figured I could use some practice too.” Clint stretched languidly before just flopping back on the floor. “I’ve been lucky enough not have my hearing aids go out in awhile, so I figured my skills were probably getting rusty.” 

“How was your second day?” Natasha’s gaze moved over Bucky in a way that meant she was registering his body language and expression to determine whether his words were congruent.

“It was good. Saw a few clients. Went out to lunch with Steve. I’ve got no complaints,” Bucky said, and flopped down in the nearest chair. 

“In that case, it sounds like we’ve got something to celebrate,” Natasha said. “I’m thinking dinner at the Cheesecake Factory?” 

Bucky considered the option, thought about saying no, then reconsidered, then remembered that Natasha seemed to have pull everywhere and could probably get them a table immediately and prevent an awkward, anxiety-provoking hour-long wait. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Excellent.” She grinned and turned to Clint. “Want to join? I’m guessing there’s nothing but pizza and Chinese food in your dorm room fridge.”

“Who am I say no to free food?” was Clint’s response, followed by a mournful, “Especially when there’s only pizza in my fridge and I can’t vouch for whether it’s been there long enough to become sentient or not.”

“You’re disgusting. I’m never going into your dorm room, and that settles it,” Natasha said.

Bucky grinned and tried not to think about the fact that whenever things went this well for a long period of time, they tended to hit a crater in the road sooner or later.

-~-

The first few days with Bucky at the shop had gone smoothly and Steve couldn’t have been happier. Sure, each and every smile and the occasional laughter Darcy managed to bring out of him just made Steve’s life harder and harder because it became that much more difficult to pretend that his feelings towards Bucky were purely friendly and platonic. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was seeing those walls come down, letting Bucky interact more freely and express more emotion. 

Steve had additionally been relieved to see Bucky and Darcy getting along. It eased his concerns of whether Bucky would feel awkward and uncomfortable when Steve wasn’t in the shop, seeing as his class schedule was always dragging him in and out through the day. But when Steve had left for class, Bucky had been perched on the stool behind the register, while Darcy sprawled out on the display case. Bucky had pointed out that the glass had a sign on it – one that Darcy herself had written – stating that the display cases were not to be touched or leaned against. Both had been laughing, which left Steve with the sense that everything would be all right there until he returned.

He’d been unable to stop thinking about Bucky throughout class, despite the fact that the fine arts seminar was one of his favorites. He hoped this infatuation wasn’t about to impact his performance in school. As he’d wandered out of class and back towards the shop, he’d continued to think about Bucky – wondering if he should stop by the coffee shop to grab something for him, worrying about whether there might have been more walk-in appointments than Bucky was ready to handle – and he probably would’ve kept on that line of thinking if he hadn’t heard the raised voices coming from the nearby alley.

“I said I’m not interested!” was all Steve needed to hear before he ducked into the alley. He was disgustingly unsurprised at the scene in front of him.

The guy looked reasonably clean-cut but big – tall and muscular – and Steve had the sense he’d probably been hanging out in the alley, right where the back exit for the diner let out, to see if any girl would happen to walk past. Steve absolutely hated guys like that, particularly given that as he approached, the guy sneered at the girl as she hurried away and said, “Yeah, fat bitches like you are never interested in guys like me but you like it when we’re interested in you because no one else would want you.” 

Steve bristled and stepped forward. “Lady says she’s not interested. There’s no need to talk to her like that.” 

With that, the guy’s attention swung away from the girl. When his eyes landed on Steve he all but laughed. “You’re defending her honor? Kid, you can’t even defend yourself.” 

Steve straightened his shoulders. “Of course I can.” 

In retrospect, throwing the first punch was probably a mistake. Steve knew better than that. On a police report, self-defense was one thing, but harder to claim if you’d made the first offensive move. For another, he couldn’t even reach the guy’s face, but that was all part of his plan. As the guy blocked his attempt at a right hook, Steve lashed out with his left fist, catching the guy in the stomach. He immediately regretted that choice when his fist hit nothing but hard, clenched muscle.

The fight – if it could even be called that – was over in a matter of seconds. Steve didn’t even have a chance to block the punch that caught him in the eye. He fought to stay upright, blinking to clear the black spots from his vision, in enough time for the second punch to catch him in the mouth, splitting his lip and leaving him in a crumpled mess on the ground. 

By the time he scrambled to his feet, the alley was empty. The guy apparently knew better than to stay at the scene of an assault. 

Steve spat blood on the pavement, and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to check for any damaged or missing teeth. He sighed as he took in his dirty, blood-stained clothes. 

At least he’d have time to change before his next appointment.

-~-

“You seen Steve?” Darcy poked her head into Bucky’s office as he put away his materials from the tongue piercing he’d just finished. 

Bucky frowned and shook his head. “I think I heard him come in about 15-20 minutes ago. Thought he went up to his apartment to put away lunch but I didn’t hear him come back down.” 

“Well, his 1:00 appointment’s here,” Darcy said. 

Bucky washed off his hands in the sink. “You get ‘em checked in, I’ll head upstairs to see what’s taking him so long.”

Bucky found the door to Steve’s apartment unlocked and knocked lightly before he stepped inside. The set up was open, with no real walls between the kitchen, living room, or bedroom, which was where Bucky spotted Steve. Steve’s back was to him, facing the open closet, and he was shirtless. 

His initial thought that Steve did not have any tattoos was proven wrong, given that there was a design on Steve’s right shoulder blade; a star outlined in black with what seemed to be a tribal design inside. Bucky was more focused on the fact that he could count each and every one of Steve’s vertebrae. He cleared his throat and said Steve’s name, at which point Steve spun to face him. Any other thought left Bucky’s head when he caught sight of Steve’s face.

Steve’s left eye was swollen shut and there was a brutal looking wound on his lip that, by Bucky’s estimates, had just scabbed over. Before Steve even had a chance to respond to Bucky’s appearance in his apartment, Bucky had crossed the floor in a matter of strides and stood in front of him.

It wasn’t until Steve flinched when Bucky went to gently touch his cheek that Bucky registered he should have asked first. He exhaled slowly and murmured, “Holy shit, Steve, who did this to you?” 

Steve shrugged and lowered his head. “I don’t know. Some guy. He was giving a girl a hard time. I didn’t like the way he was talking to her, so I decided to do something about it.” 

“Steve, what this guy did to you, that’s assault.” Before he could stop himself, he lightly cupped Steve’s cheek in his hand. This time Steve didn’t flinch away. “Did you file a report?”

“Couldn’t. Didn’t need to.” Steve finally met his gaze and his blue eyes – or at least the one Bucky could clearly see - burned with defiance. “I tried to hit him first, so I can’t claim self-defense.”

“Steve,” Bucky started and then stopped because he could see when he was fighting a losing battle. Instead, he just ran his thumb along Steve’s cheek, and examined the bruising around his eye. “Did you at least put ice on your face?”

“Of course, I’m not stupid,” Steve all but snarled. He yanked his head back and away from Bucky’s hand. His shoulders hunched in a way that made Bucky think of raised hackles rather than submission. 

At one time, Bucky might have responded by snapping back, but something about Steve’s expression stopped any urge to do that. He recognized that look. It was the same one he’d seen in the mirror during his months of rehabilitation, when everyone was cautioning him not to push himself too hard or reminding him that the small steps of progress were good enough but he wanted to be able to do more.

Instead, he softly said, “Maybe you should start carrying brass knuckles with you. Illegal as hell but at least nobody would mess with you again.”

Steve seemed thrown by the response and some of the defensive posturing left his body. He gave Bucky an appraising look through the eye that he could still fully open. There was still that raw, crackling energy flowing through him, and with his eyes flashing and blonde hair messy and tangled, Bucky suddenly found a lump in his throat and a faint aching sensation in his chest.

He didn’t give Steve the chance to get defensive again or himself enough time to question his response. “Your client’s here. Darcy’s checking them in right now.” He couldn’t help but ask, “You sure you’ll be able to work with your eye swollen like that?”

Steve shrugged and turned slightly away from Bucky to grab a plain black t-shirt and a plaid button-down to tug over it. “I’ve done it before. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He took about half a second to check his reflection in the mirror, frowning as he took in the bruises and split lip, and then headed down the stairs, which gave Bucky no other choice but to follow him.

Darcy’s immediate response when she saw Steve was to say, “Not again!”

Bucky shot her a questioning look while Steve just glared at her and she went silent.

Bucky waited until Steve had taken the client back before inquring, “This happen often?”

Darcy sighed. “Yeah, he usually has at least one bruise on him at any given time. Steve… Steve’s the sort who stands up for what he believes in, even when there are consequences.”

“Like getting his face beaten in,” Bucky said with a raised eyebrow. “He ever press charges?”

“When he can. Detective Coulson might as well be on speed dial for as many times as Steve’s had to give a statement to him after a fight.” 

Bucky would have questioned her further if a walk-in client hadn’t chosen that exact moment to come in. He let Darcy handle the necessary consents and paperwork while he made sure his equipment was prepared and his office was organized. As he worked, he couldn’t help but think about all the new information he was learning about Steve: the guy who’d challenge someone bigger and stronger just to make a point, who wanted to enlist but was turned away, and who had given someone like Bucky a chance to prove himself.

He tried not to spend too much time thinking about the lingering ache in his chest or the fact that the last time he’d felt that way had been the first time he saw Natasha after coming back. Dr. Jones would have challenged him to identify that emotion and how that linked into the sensations in his body, but Bucky wasn’t ready to do that. 

He could already label the emotion. He just didn’t want to admit it. 

-~-

Bucky spent the next 48 hours trying to sort out his confusion over his reaction to Steve. The protectiveness wasn’t surprising – he’d never liked the sort of bully who would take on someone smaller just to prove their supposed superiority – and he genuinely thought Steve was a good guy. 

He found himself more distracted than usual and had a few difficult moments where he misplaced his gear or forgot where he’d put his cell phone but nothing that substantially interfered with his work or impacted any of his sessions. He kept an eye on Steve whenever he could. He paid attention to the bruising and how the cut on his lip was healing, and felt relieved that if nothing else, Steve seemed to be suffering no ill effects from the injuries. 

With all of those thoughts going through his head, he had to admit he was grateful when the final customer left and the door was locked behind them. Darcy took the opportunity to turn up the music – with Bucky’s permission, which she was always careful to obtain – and Bucky raised an eyebrow when the smooth sounds of Frank Sinatra started to play. 

Darcy grinned and then extended her hand to him. “Come on, Robocop, don’t tell me you can’t dance.” 

“How’d you guess dancing was my secret talent?” He accepted the offered hand with his flesh and blood one, and carefully rested his metal hand against her side, right above her hip. 

The movements came back easily, a little less smooth than they used to be thanks to his continued difficulty acclimating to the shift in balance that came along with losing the arm and then having it replaced with one of a different weight. Darcy laughed delightedly as Bucky switched between styles – leading her through a foxtrot one minute, switching to a quickstep the next, and then throwing in some swing moves because why not? – and Bucky felt a surge of pride. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Darcy asked as the song ended. They both stopped to catch their breath. 

“Natasha, mostly,” Bucky said. “She insisted that I learn the steps like the nice, cultured gentleman I am, even when I pointed out that every school dance would just be filled with bumping and grinding and overall dirty dancing. For the record, her response to that was that in ‘Dirty Dancing’ Baby had to learn classic dance moves and therefore I was expected to do the same.” 

“You’re good,” Steve said from the hallway. Bucky glanced over, and registered for the first time that Steve had apparently been standing there watching the two of them. 

Bucky shrugged self-consciously and modestly said, “I used to be better. The whole metal arm thing has thrown off my center of balance. But Nat insisted on using dancing as part of my rehabilitation, so at least I’ve gotten practice over the past year.” 

“It’s nice to finally have a co-worker whose willing to dance with me,” Darcy said somewhat accusingly.

Steve’s skin flushed the slightest bit, as though he were embarrassed.

“You don’t dance?” Bucky asked him.

Steve shrugged and muttered, “Never really learned how to.” 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what had come over him that led him to take a step closer and offer his hand to Steve, but there he was, standing in front of him with his hand outstretched. “I could teach you a few basic moves. I mean, if you want.” 

Steve quickly shook his head but didn’t take a step back, which Bucky found moderately encouraging. “No, that’s, uh, that’s not necessary.”

“I promise I won’t bite or mind if you step on my feet, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’ Bucky continued to keep his hand outstretched. “But it’s your choice.”

Steve eyed Bucky’s hand warily for an instant before taking it and looking pointedly at Darcy. “If I see your cell phone out, I am totally firing you. This is not the time for blackmail material.” 

“No worries, boss,” Darcy said with a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Positioning Steve’s gangly limbs proved to be the first challenge, particularly with the height difference, although Steve wasn’t much smaller than Natasha. That made it a little easier since Bucky was used to the size and shape of her body. Steve kept glancing down, and Bucky had to continually encourage him to look up and keep his gaze locked on his own. 

The second challenge game was trying to teach Steve the box step. Steve constantly stepped forward when he was supposed to step back or stepped left when he was supposed to step right, which led to feet getting stepped on and the two of them tripping over one another. Still, after a few minutes, Steve seemed to get the rhythm and the motion and Bucky saw his face light up. Darcy put the music back on a low volume. Bucky helped Steve match the steps to the tempo of the song and offered him an encouraging smile. 

In retrospect, Bucky probably shouldn’t have attempted a spin-and-dip combo because that led to immediate disaster. He attempted to guide Steve through the motions, used to Natasha following his lead without question, but Steve apparently had his own ideas about how to conduct the movements. The end result was that Steve’s feet became entangled and he almost fell headlong into the nearby display case. Bucky made a valiant attempt at steadying him by yanking Steve back towards him, which promptly meant he overbalanced and lost his footing and the two ended up in a pile of limbs on the floor.

Steve had ended up on top of him and was breathing hard. He seemed to be caught in between embarrassment and worry. “You okay, Buck?” he asked.

Bucky didn’t know what to do with that question because Steve’s body was pressed against his own and he couldn’t look away from Steve’s eyes. 

Steve’s expression darkened with concern. He quickly moved away, but kept his hand on Bucky’s arm. “Buck? You okay?” 

Bucky managed to summon enough coherence to say, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You?”

Steve nodded.

“Okay, so maybe that’s it for the dancing lessons today,” Darcy suggested. Her Sharpie marked up Converse All-Stars came into view beside Bucky’s head. “Need a hand up, boss?” 

Steve accepted the offer, and Bucky tried to pretend that he didn’t feel the absence of the contact like another loss.


	4. Like Water Flowing Into Lungs, I'm Flowing Through These Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha meets Clint's secret pet and Bucky has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. As a bonus (and somewhat related to Bucky's bad day) Steve makes a series of poor life decisions.

As always, Clint was waiting for her as she walked out of the building following her Latin class. Natasha had insisted on taking the course despite the fact that everyone told her Latin was a dead language and useless to know. 

For reasons known only to him, Clint was practically perched on the bench, using the back of it was a seat rather than sitting like a normal person. By this point in their relationship, Natasha had stopped questioning the things that he did.

She did, however, question the fresh bruises and bandages on his body and the mangy dog sleeping on the ground beside the bench.

“Hey, Nat,” he greeted her.

“Hey, yourself.” She eyed the bruises on his face, then the dog. “Anything you want to tell me about?”

“I had a really, really bad day at the gym and I found a stray.” He grinned as he picked up one of the cups he’d positioned on the bench by his feet. “Pumpkin spice latte?” he offered, like it was a peace treaty.

“You’re not getting off that easily.” Natasha accepted the drink gratefully and then offered him her hand. He accepted and got to his feet. “C’mon, I’ve been sitting for far too long and I’ve got another meeting in an hour. Walk with me.” 

“Yes, mistress,” Clint said. He whistled and the dog scrambled up and bounded over to him.

“For a stray, that’s a pretty well-trained dog,” she noted.

Clint shrugged. “She would be. I’ve had her for about a month now.”

“A month? Where have you been keeping her and why haven’t I seen her until now?” 

“My dorm room and because she’s in my dorm room and you’re afraid to go in there,” Clint responded. “Her name’s Lucky. She’s a good dog.”

“How’ve you been sneaking her in and out?” Natasha asked.

Clint just smirked in response to that and didn’t offer any explanation, though when pressed, he merely said, “Magicians never tell.” 

“You’re not a magician,” she pointed out.

“That’s what you think.” He grinned. “But enough about me. How’re things going with Barnes?”

“They’re good,” Natasha said. “He’s been doing well. He walks to and from the shop on his own, he’s gone out with Steve and Darcy for lunch a couple of times, and last night he even called to tell me he’d be late because he was going on a coffee run with them. I’ve been impressed.”

“I’m glad to hear it. He hasn’t been getting any shit from the customers, right? I mean, about his arm. I know people can be dicks about that sorta thing.”

“Not really,” Natasha said. “Unless, of course, he’s hiding it from me. He’s gotten some questions about it and he says that he just tells them he’s a vet and that’s usually about all he needs to say to end the conversation. He mentioned a couple of them talked to him about family members they had who were veterans as well, but that’s been about the extent of it.” 

“Sounds like he’s made some real progress,” Clint noted. 

As always, Natasha was grateful for the fact that Clint didn’t seem to be jealous or feel insecure about her relationship with Bucky – or her relationship with Sam, for that matter – and just accepted the fact that her best friend-sometimes-with-benefits was still in her life. 

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until Clint said her name with a hint of confusion. She just looked at him for a long moment before reaching up to brush her fingers against his cheek, frowning when she caught the rough edge of one of the bandages.

“One of these days you’re going to tell me what’s really going on with you,” she murmured as her hand slipped to the back of his head. Her fingers curled around his hair and pulled him forward until his lips met her own. 

“One day I will.” He murmured the words against her lips. “But that day is not today.”

She nipped his lower lip. “I should just sic my father on you.”

“You mean the terrifying one that Barnes is always warning me about?” 

“The one and the same, but James always exaggerates. My father’s very nice. After all, he’s the one who raised me.” Her tone turned a bit more serious. “Clint, if you’re in trouble, you can tell me. I can help you out.”

“I’d tell you if I were in trouble,” he promised. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“It better not be.” She frowned and then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “We still on for dinner tonight?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he assured her. “I might even wear a suit.”

“You’d better. This restaurant does have a suit and tie dress code,” she said, and he groaned. She just offered him a sly grin. “It’ll all be worth it, Clint. Just wait until you get to see the dress I picked out for tonight.” 

“You’re a tease,” he called after her as she walked away.

~~~~

With everything going so smoothly, Bucky should have known something would go wrong sooner or later. That was how things always worked in his life, and the fact that he’d had a week filled with more good days than bad ones meant he was way overdue for a sharp decline. 

Of course, there had been some shaky moments; when someone had brushed against him while he was walking on his own down the street and he almost jumped out of his skin, or when he caught the scent of smoke and his mind conjured up reminders of how burned flesh smelled and he had to call Natasha and ask her to pick him up at the diner because he couldn’t focus on walking and ground himself at the same time. But those were about on par for his average weekly experiences during the best of times. Given that he was juggling those stressors and the stress of taking on an almost full-time job, he had to give himself credit that he was handling everything pretty goddamn well.

But like everything else in his life, that was just the calm before the storm.

His client count had been steadily increasing on a day-to-day basis depending on how many walk-ins came through the front door. He’d readily adapted to the busier schedule. He was fast and effective and the numbers weren’t more than he could handle, or at least that had been his assumption thus far. 

The last client had left the building and Darcy had locked the door behind him, which meant that once Bucky finished sterilizing his equipment and setting up for the next day, he could head back to the townhouse and maybe meet up with Natasha at the bar if he could summon the energy to go out again. He wondered if Steve might want to join them, although Steve didn’t seem the sort to regularly frequent bars, and, of course, if he were going to invite Steve, it occurred to him that he should probably invite Darcy too. 

He attempted a half-assed body scan to test how probable his ability to do anything more than collapse in bed and sleep for the next twelve hours might be and found the results inconclusive. There was no headache and no signs of an approaching headache, which was always a good sign as far as he was concerned, but there was something not quite right that he couldn’t put his finger on. The closest word he could up with was exhaustion but he dismissed that as ridiculous given the amount of sleep he’d been getting recently.

He was in the process of loading up the sterilization machine when everything went wrong. 

One moment, he was reaching up to turn on the machine, the next the world shifted and tilted under his feet. All sense of balance left him. He tried to reach out to the machine or wall or anything that might steady him, but found that his vision was off and where he saw the wall wasn’t matching up with where the wall actually was in reality.

One knee buckled. Bucky tried to control his descent as much as possible. He ended up kneeling on the floor, or at least he thought he was kneeling, he couldn’t quite tell given the current angle of his vision indicated that the floor was where the wall normally was. He couldn’t even try to focus on the orientation of the ceiling or try to discern what was up and what was down without his vision spiraling out and the black dots already flooding his peripheral vision starting to encompass everything.

Not that it mattered. His vision was going out anyways and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

His thoughts were coming slower and slower, like he was wading through water. He tried to breathe deeply, tried to remember what else he’d been taught that might help with this, but everything was disjointed and breaking apart and he was breaking apart and-

-~-

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.” 

Steve looked up immediately at the panicked tone in Darcy’s voice. The one thing Darcy was not prone to doing was panic. 

Her eyes were wide and she looked as close to terrified as he’d ever seen her. All of that was more than enough to get him on his feet almost instantaneously. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s, uh, Barnes. Bucky. I just glanced into his office and he’s on the floor. Not moving. Should I call an ambulance?”

“What? Shit.” Before he even registered Darcy’s question, Steve moved out the door and down the hall towards Bucky’s office. “No, don’t call an ambulance. Not yet.” 

He paused in the doorway, and tried to control his reaction as he saw Bucky’s prone body on the ground. He did his best not to panic when he registered the pallor of Bucky’s skin and, just like Darcy had said, complete and utter lack of movement. He tried to remember what Bucky had said during their initial meeting as he knelt down beside him, but couldn’t quite remember what policy they’d come up with for this situation. He knew Bucky hadn’t wanted an ambulance called but what if this was something different, something that warranted immediate medical help?

His fingers immediately went for Bucky’s flesh-and-blood wrist and he found himself feeling the slightest bit calmer when he registered that Bucky’s pulse was steady and strong. Steve tried to remember the other basic nursing skills his mom had taught him. He paid attention to Bucky’s respiration and breathing, noting that it was slow and even, and tried to determine what the best course of action would be.

He’d just settled on calling Natasha to ask her opinion when Bucky stirred and made a soft, somewhat pained sound. Steve gently squeezed his hand and murmured, “Hey, Buck. It’s Steve. You passed out but you’re gonna be okay.” 

Bucky blinked up at him blearily and echoed, “Steve?” The slightest hint of a smile, completely at odds with the situation at hand, crossed his lips. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” It occurred to him that he should probably keep Bucky talking. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Fuzzy,” Bucky said after a long moment. “It’s… it’s hard to think still.”

“Is there any pain?” Steve studied Bucky’s face for any obvious bruises. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” 

“Don’t think so. Don’t remember but I don’t think so. My head doesn’t hurt, at the least.” 

“Alright, that’s a good step.” He rubbed Bucky’s shoulder. “Think you’re safe to try out moving? Just let me know if you’re about to pass out again or something.” 

“I can try,” Bucky mumbled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath that came out in a shuddering gasp. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry about this.” 

“Hey, shh, don’t worry about that,” Steve said soothingly. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

He gently guided Bucky into a sitting position. He encouraged him to keep the movement slow and steady and to keep breathing, and kept one hand on his back and one on his shoulder on the chance he started to waver. When Bucky managed to remain upright for a moment, Steve gently got him propped against the wall and studied him to see how well he was handling the movement. 

“That hasn’t happened in awhile,” Bucky murmured after a few beats of silence where Steve wasn’t sure what to say. “Usually I get a bit more warning than that.”

“Just came out of nowhere, huh?” Steve was at a loss for anything else to say. He still fought the urge to call Natasha or tell Darcy to call an ambulance. “You think you need to see a doctor or anything like that?” 

“Nah, it’s just one of the many fucked up things that happens to me sometimes,” Bucky said with a humorless chuckle. “I’ll be fine in a couple hours.”

Steve had to admit that Bucky looked far from fine at this point, but he had to assume that Bucky knew himself and his condition far better than Steve did. “Anything I can do to help until then?”

“I wouldn’t say no to crashing on your couch for a bit, if that’s okay,” Bucky said.

Steve could have kicked himself for not offering that sooner. 

“Yeah, shit, of course, Buck. Look, just rest here for a couple minutes and I’ll make sure the shop’s locked up.” 

“Already ahead of you, boss,” Darcy said from the doorway. Steve glanced over his shoulder to see her standing there awkwardly. He wondered just how long she’d been there and how much she’d heard; even though Steve couldn’t remember saying anything he wouldn’t want her to have heard. She still looked apprehensive and worried and offered Bucky a shaky smile as she stepped into the room. “How’s it going, Robocop?”

“Better than it was a couple minutes ago,” he said drily. “Sorry for scaring you.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know it’s not something you’ve got any control over.” She looked to Steve for confirmation and asked, “No ambulance needed?”

Steve, noting the look of sheer, blind panic that immediately entered Bucky’s eyes, quickly said, “Nope, not needed. I’m gonna let him crash upstairs and call Natasha.”

“Heard loud and clear, boss,” Darcy said. “You need any help getting him upstairs?”

Steve hesitated, then asked Bucky, “You need a few minutes?”

Bucky started to nod and that was all it took for the meager color he’d managed to get back to drain from his face. 

Steve quickly grabbed his hand. “Easy there. Just focus on me, okay?” He tried to curb his alarm when Bucky’s eyes slipped shut. He lightly squeezed Bucky’s hand and breathed a bit easier when Bucky responded with a squeeze of his own.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Darcy, you mind staying with him for a couple minutes while I call Nat?”

Once Darcy knelt down beside him, Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand one more time before pulling away. He was rewarded for this action with a low, panicked whimper from Bucky. 

Steve automatically murmured, “No, no, it’s okay, Buck.” He lightly smoothed Bucky’s damp hair back before he could think his actions through. “Darcy’s going to be next to you and I’ll be right outside the door. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

Darcy reached forward to wrap her hand around Bucky’s as Steve attempted to pull back again. This time Bucky offered no protest, although he was staring at Steve plaintively through half-lidded and barely focused eyes. 

“I’ll only be a minute,” Steve promised. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Bucky’s for a moment. “Just stay awake.” 

He looked to Darcy, who was tightly gripping Bucky’s hand and mouthed, “Will you be okay?” She nodded. Satisfied that he was leaving Bucky in good hands, he rose to his feet and moved to the hallway before dialing Natasha’s number.

Thankfully, she picked up on the second ring and asked, “What’s wrong?” saving him the effort of having to prepare her for his news.

“Hey, Nat. Uh, Bucky’s not doing quite so well. He passed out in the office about ten minutes ago, from what we can tell, and he’s still pretty out of it. He says not to call an ambulance and I trust him but I also figured I should check in with you and also see what I should do to help him out.” 

“Shit,” she half-sighed, half-exhaled. “I was worried he might’ve been pushing himself too hard. Look, you don’t need to call an ambulance. Just… keep an eye on him for an hour or so. I’m in a meeting that I can’t get out of before then. If you give him somewhere to lie down, he’ll probably just sleep and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No problem. I don’t have classes or anything and Darcy offered to help me get him up to my apartment over the shop. I’ll just stay with him until you arrive.” 

“Thanks, Steve,” she said, audibly relieved. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Steve murmured. “I don’t mind, hell knows I’ve been in that position before, so I’ll take good care of him.” 

He hung up the phone, and steeled himself before he walked back into the room. He found that Darcy had positioned herself beside Bucky and was carrying on a conversation with him. His face was still pale but his eyes were open and he was responding fairly well to her questions and comments. 

Of course, Steve came in just in time to hear her ask, “Would you rather use sandpaper as toilet paper or hot sauce as eye drops?” and Bucky say, “Jesus Christ, does Satan himself come up with these?” When Bucky’s eyes drifted towards Steve, he looked rather relieved. “I plead the fifth. Steve can answer this one. I already had to decide between swimming everywhere or listening to Nickelback for twelve hours each day for the rest of my life.” 

“I ask the hard questions,” Darcy informed Steve before flashing her iPhone screen at him. “By which I mean, I go on Buzzfeed to track down the top fifteen hardest “Would You Rather’s.” 

“Seems to have done the trick.” He turned his attention to Bucky. “You up for trying to stand?” 

“I think I can manage that.” Bucky braced his metal hand against the wall, and then sheepishly explained, “It’s, uh, kinda strong and I don’t want to accidentally hurt either of you.” 

“That’s alright.” Steve reached for Bucky’s right arm and tensed every muscle in preparation for trying to get him upright, hoping this wouldn’t be one of those times his back decided to give out on him. Darcy moved to help as well. She kept a hand on Bucky’s side to guide him upright and steady him once he was on his feet. 

The fact that Bucky’s skin tone remained the same and he didn’t seem to be particularly in danger of passing out again reassured Steve. He ducked under Bucky’s arm, sliding it over his shoulders and tried to ignore the fact that he was barely tall enough to act as a crutch for Bucky, let alone support him. 

Darcy followed behind as Steve maneuvered Bucky towards the stairs to his apartment, offering up a steady stream of encouragement and pleas for them to not fall because even though she was spotting them, she had no chance of catching them, and she really didn’t want to be crushed at the bottom of the stairwell.

Clearly, the stars were in alignment, since Steve managed to get Bucky up the stairs and into his apartment without further incident. Although Bucky leaned on him more heavily with every successive step, he was still on his feet by the time Steve managed to open the apartment door. He half-stumbled his way to the couch with Bucky in tow. 

Stating that he was relieved to get Bucky settled on the couch was a severe understatement, particularly given that Bucky’s eyes were still open and relatively focused. 

Darcy hung back in the doorway. “You need to me to stay, boss?” 

Steve quickly said, “Not if you need to be elsewhere.” 

She looked somewhat relieved and he had to wonder who exactly she was meeting. Then Darcy darted forward and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, Robocop. I’ll see you in the morning if you’re feeling better by then.” 

With that, she was out of the room and down the stairs before Bucky even had the chance to say goodnight to her. But he looked amused. That level of emotion made some of the tightness in Steve’s chest that had been there since he found Bucky on the floor ease up a bit.

“You need anything?” he asked hesitantly. “Water? Aspirin? A pillow?” 

“I’m good.”

Steve knew that expression on Bucky’s face. It mirrored the one on his own whenever someone offered to get him anything when he was sick. That was the expression that said, “I need something but I’m not going to admit it because that would mean admitting I’m not okay” or at least that was what the facial movements roughly translated to in Steve’s case.

Which meant that Steve made the executive decision to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and a spare blanket and pillow from the closet before returning to Bucky’s side. “At least make yourself comfortable. Nat said it might be an hour, maybe a little longer, before she’s able to get over here.” 

Bucky groaned. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry for this. This was exactly what I was afraid of happening.”

“Then it looks like the worst has already happened and you survived.” Steve took a seat beside Bucky on the couch. “Look, I get it… the not wanting to feel like a burden to people. I’ve been sick most of my life with one thing or another and it drives me crazy to have people, whether it’s family members or friends, taking care of me. The first time we really talked, you told me that you ended up in the hospital because you’d been faking it and eventually you couldn’t anymore. I did that all the time and I still do. Freshman year, I ended up in the hospital because the stress and exhaustion led to a relapse of mono.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that we’ve got the same unhealthy personality characteristics and your level of insight hasn’t changed any of your behaviors?” Bucky almost smiled.

“That’s some impressive psychobabble,” Steve replied. “I didn’t know you were a licensed psychologist.” 

“Nah, just spent enough time in their offices to have picked up on the lingo,” Bucky retorted. 

If Steve wasn’t looking for the tightness in the corners of Bucky’s eyes or the rigidness of his jaw, he might have thought this was normal bantering and nothing was wrong. 

He didn’t exactly mean to trace his fingers along Bucky’s cheekbones; that was just an accident. He’d been wishing he could smooth away those stress lines and his hands had just moved on their own accord, without any signal from his brain. He certainly hadn’t meant to rest his palm against Bucky’s cheek, imperceptibly drawing Bucky’s head closer, and there was no way in hell he was eyeing Bucky’s lips and wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own because that would be so very wrong to do at this point and –

\- the answer was that Bucky’s lips felt right and comfortable against his own and he tasted like peppermint and –

\- this was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Steve forced himself to pull away. He caught Bucky’s gaze for half a second before lowering his own to the sofa. He thought he’d caught something akin to disappointment, but he’d probably misconstrued disgust or anger because how else could Bucky be feeling towards him at this point? Bucky was barely functional and completely vulnerable and Steve had just taken advantage of that and of his position, Jesus Christ, he was technically Bucky’s boss, and…

“Steve?” Bucky asked. The fact that his voice shook was heartbreaking and made Steve feel 110% worse because everything about the tone questioned whether Bucky had done something wrong. Steve didn’t even know how to respond to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say. He rose and turned away from Bucky before he could be tempted to look at his face again. “That was… I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

He chanced a glance up and immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw the hurt flash in Bucky’s eyes. Then Bucky’s entire expression shut down.

Steve tried to come up with some sort of explanation for what had just happened that might fix that look and remove it forever from Bucky’s face. 

Before he could say anything, Bucky tossed the pillow on one end of the couch and hollowly said, “It’s fine, Steve. I’m still feeling pretty dizzy so I think I’m just gonna sleep until Natasha arrives.” 

Steve watched him silently, helplessly, knowing full well that Bucky was feigning sleep but unwilling to say anything that might hurt him again.

After all, there was nothing to say. He’d already done enough harm. 

He just hoped that when Natasha arrived and took Bucky home, that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

-~-

The fact that Bucky was quiet the whole ride back was concerning. Natasha had registered that something was wrong – more wrong than the usual – the moment she saw him on the couch. For starters, she was quite accustomed to how Bucky looked when he feigned sleep and there was no doubt in her mind that he wasn’t actually sleeping when she arrived. For another, Steve looked guilty and miserable. If she’d had a chance to get him alone, she would have asked him what the hell had happened, but she’d been more concerned with getting Bucky out and into the backseat of Sam’s car. 

Bucky’s expression was the one that concerned her the most though. There was a level of blankness that she hadn’t seen outside of the times he’d dissociated on her after being badly triggered. He’d said little to Steve on the way out – nothing aside from goodnight – and even fewer words to her and Sam as she got him settled with his head in her lap, body curled on the seat in a way that violated every driving law and probably wasn’t particularly safe, not that she cared at this point.

The fact that he was barely responsive to her stroking his hair just heightened her worry and she finally, softly asked, “James, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he echoed. His voice shook and cracked and broke her heart. “What’s wrong is that I’m broken and fucked up and I’m not gonna get better so I don’t know why I’m even still trying.”

“Because you blacked out in the office?” She struggled to understand what had brought this level of self-deprecation on. “James, that’s happened to you before. When you first moved in, I’d wake up to find you in the hallway and on the floor more often than not. You’ve been doing really well this past month or so and just because it happened this once doesn’t mean you’re damaged or broken. Your body’s adapting to a new schedule and level of activity. It’s not surprising this happened.” 

“It’s not that,” he said. Natasha registered that he was doing his damndest not to cry and apparently failing, given that she could see the tears glinting on his cheeks every time they went under a streetlight. “I don’t care about that.”

“Then what do you care about?” There was a level of frustration in her words, which may have explained why she saw Bucky check out completely in response. One moment he was there, the next his eyes were empty and he didn’t respond when she called his name. 

She knew she should try to ground him, rattle off each and every technique until he came back to her, but something made her hesitate. He hadn’t looked this absolutely broken in months. She was afraid that if she brought him back, she might be doing more harm than good. 

“Look, I love you,” Natasha said, when no other words seemed to be enough.

He blinked, reorienting fully without her even trying to ground him, and then curled into himself, sobbing so violently she was half-concerned he was going to hurt himself.

Sam couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror and meet her worried gaze with one of his own.

She just shook her head silently in response to Sam’s unspoken questions. Instead, she focused on smoothing back Bucky’s hair. She wondered what exactly about those words had pushed him over the edge, and exactly what role Steve had played in her best friend’s current condition.


	5. Interlude: I've Got My Finger On The Trigger And You're In My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint's evening doesn't go according to his original plans but an unexpected opportunity presents itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update before the week begins. Chapters will hopefully resume next weekend!

The evening was going well. Clint had a date with Natasha in an hour and he was in the middle of testing out just how much he was enjoying utilizing the dildo bat in the advanced copy of Saints Row III. His boss had a way of providing the exact sort of rewards Clint appreciated in life. 

His cell phone ringing pulled him away from the game. Instead of initially answering, he sang along with the chorus of “Cherry Pie.” Lucky whined from her position at the foot of his bed, apparently not enjoying his attempts to serenade her.

“Ungrateful beast” he muttered. He answered the call without bothering to glance at the caller ID. 

There was really no need. Only one person in his contact list had that ringtone. 

“Hey, Natasha.” He positioned the phone between his ear and shoulder, hoping the proximity between it and his hearing aid wouldn’t throw off any interference. Still, he was willing to take that risk given that he was far more interested in continuing to mash the buttons on the controller as they talked. 

“Clint,” she said, just his name, and her voice was tired. That got his attention enough that he hit pause and tossed the controller on the bed.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

That was a pointless question; he could tell by her voice that something was wrong, which of course meant that something had happened. 

“It’s James,” she said succinctly. “He… he had a bad day. A really bad one. The kind where I had to get .5 milligrams of Xanax down his throat before he calmed down enough to be remotely rational. Then his rationality didn’t really matter since he just fell asleep.”

“Shit,” Clint said. “So I’m going out on a limb and guessing you’re calling to tell me that our date is cancelled because you need to stay home and keep an eye on him.” 

Despite his words, he wasn’t mad and he knew his tone conveyed that. Becoming involved with Natasha meant accepting her roommate/ex-boyfriend/friend-with-benefits and the fact that, given Bucky’s numerous issues, he came first. Clint honestly didn’t mind. For starters, he liked Bucky. More importantly, he knew that nine times out of ten, Natasha was the guy’s only source of stability.

“Yes.” There was an edge of relief to her voice. “I’m sorry, Clint, you know that but he’s… he’s not okay. I’d say you were welcome to come over but I can’t vouch for what kind of company we’ll be.” 

“It’s fine, Tasha.” That was around the time his pager went off. He glanced at the number. Perfect timing, as far as he was concerned. Had the message come first, he might have been the one calling Natasha to make excuses for missing their date. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. 

“I actually think I’ll stay in tonight,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of essays due over the next week and it probably makes more sense for me to get a head start. That way I can have a homework-free night for our next date without sacrificing my 3.9 GPA.” 

“You sure?” When he confirmed that, yes, he was totally, definitely, 100% sure, she said, “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Clint.” 

“Night, Nat,” he murmured, distracted. He stretched out one foot to hook onto the handle of the second desk drawer down. He resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to sit up to reach inside because his current angle wasn’t exactly conducive for that. “Give Bucky my best.” 

Hitting the ‘call end’ button prevented Clint from knowing whether Natasha had said anything in response, but his attention was already far away from that conversation. He removed the lockbox from the drawer. He tracked down the key he’d hidden in the top of one of the bedposts, and unlocked it. He surveyed the contents for a moment before reaching for the cell phone inside. He dialed the familiar number that had just flashed on his pager and once again tucked the cell phone between his shoulder and ear.

This time though, the game controller remained untouched where he’d left it on the bed. Instead, he reached into the lockbox again, withdrawing the Glock 9MM inside. He went through the usual safety checks as he waited for the individual who’d just paged him to pick up.

When the other end of the line crackled to life, he inquired, “You’ve got a job for me, sir?”


	6. I Feel Burned Out Like I've Expired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some of the repercussions of Steve's actions are revealed but no resolution takes place yet, Natasha finds out more about what's going on with Clint, and Jane has an unexpected visitor at the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I had multiple updates a week initially but now with grad school kicking my ass, my new goal is to update this fic every weekend from here on out. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting! It brightens my long, exhausting days so very much. Definitely come say hi to me on Tumblr (@ theshadowandthetrickster) if you'd like! I promise I don't bite much and I like meeting new people.

That night marked the worst one in quite awhile. 

Natasha had gotten off the phone with Clint and spent the rest of the night camped out in the living room with Sam while Bucky slept on the couch. Their intention had been to alternate shifts, with one retreating to her room while the other remained curled in one of the living room chairs. However, once the nightmares started, Bucky’s screams and whimpers weren’t letting either of them sleep for any length of time. 

Around 3:00 AM, Bucky had finally quieted down, enough that, although Sam had abandoned the plan to sleep in her room, he was at least dozing in the chair, leaving Natasha the only one awake and trying to contend with racing thoughts.

She remembered how things had been at the beginning, when Bucky had first come back. She remembered when her phone range and she registered the New York area code and felt a mixture of trepidation and fear when she considered the possibility that the call could be about him.

_The Halloween decorations were out and the air already had a bite to it, making the walk to and from the townhouse more enjoyable. Clint was with her, attempting to master the art of eating pizza and walking at the same time, and losing more bites than the ones he managed to get into his mouth. He finally abandoned the practice and gave the remains to what she estimated was the fifth dog they’d walked past that Clint had insisted on petting. She’d made apologies for him each time, and she was prepared to make another when her cell phone rang._

_The first thing she registered was the New York area code. She immediately thought of him. He’d been home only a few months ago in between his tours and visited her in DC. A few weeks ago, she’d received a letter from him, and he’d promised to call when he could. The fact that it had been several weeks hadn’t worried her at the time – often he didn’t have access to phones for weeks at a stretch. It was a stark contrast to the weeks where nothing happened and he complained to her almost daily of the fact that he was about to die of boredom – but now she realized how uneasy she’d felt when she received that letter._

_She’d been waiting for something, and this phone call, this phone call was it._

_“Hello, this is Natasha,” she said automatically._

_She could have cried with relief when she heard his voice come through the other end._

_“Hey, Nat. It’s me. James. I’m, uh, I’m back.”_

_His voice was raspy and uneven but it was him. If nothing else, the fact that he was talking meant he was alive._

_“Oh God,” she murmured – gasped, if she were to be honest – before she could stop herself. “What… what happened? How bad is it?”_

_She registered that Clint was staring at her with his brow furrowed and a questioning look in his eyes._

_“Remember how you made me promise to come back the first time I shipped out?” Bucky asked. Of course she did, not that he gave her a chance to let him know that before his next words came out. “I kept that promise, mostly. Just… just not all of me came back.”_

_She fought the urge to ask him to be more specific and instead questioned, “Which hospital are you at? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”_

The rest of the night had been stored in her memory in segments. The trip to New York with Clint, who hadn’t asked for specifics and just accepted the limited answer she gave him. He’d immediately offered to drive after she’d looked at the flights from IAD, Reagan, and BWI and found that none would get here to New York any sooner. The six-hour drive was mostly a blur of jazz music and Clint’s occasional gentle questions of whether she was hungry or needed to stop. 

The hospital staff had initially refused to allow her back to see Bucky, citing the fact that it was well after visiting hours and the middle of the night, and she’d been-

A rustle of movement from the figure tangled in blankets on the couch brought her back to the present. She watched for a moment to assess whether Bucky was just readjusting, having a nightmare, or starting to wake up. The question was answered when Bucky rolled into a sitting position, his hair falling in his eyes, his expression one of disorientation and confusion. 

“Easy, James.” She carefully rose to her feet and moved towards him, mindful that given his exhausted and drugged state any faster movement might trigger him. “How’re you feeling?” 

He blinked a few times, and then scrubbed his flesh and blood fist over his eyes like a young child would. Instead of answering her question, he mumbled, “What time is it?” 

“It was a little after 3:00 AM the last time I checked.” When Bucky didn’t flinch away from her approach, she settled down on the couch beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He didn’t seem to be likely to share any information on his own, so she again asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, then a bit more angrily added, “I don’t fucking know, okay, Nat? Why is everyone always asking me that? Why do you guys care how I’m feeling? Why does it matter? Why does everything need a fucking label?” 

Natasha curbed the impulse to remind him of the rationale for identifying his feelings in the immediate moment. She recognized full well that she would only agitate him further if she did. The last thing she wanted to do was make this already bad situation worse. 

“Okay,” she said gently. “Alright, James. I won’t ask that again. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I just wanted to check in, see if there was any difference from how you were feeling earlier.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to help. After several moments, he murmured, “I’m… I’m fuzzy. I can’t think clearly and I feel like there’s this awful fucking weight on my chest that’s making it hard to breathe.” 

She lightly squeezed his shoulder and then slid her fingers into his hair. “I don’t know if you remember, but I gave you Xanax earlier. The fuzziness might be from that, along with that whole passing out at work situation.” She hesitated. “What else happened?” 

Bucky was silent for a long moment, long enough that she thought he might not respond and then longer still, so that she checked over on him to make sure he was still present and hadn’t gone away or passed out again. But his eyes were open and relatively focused and, if anything, he looked so heartbreakingly sad that she didn’t know what to do. 

“Steve kissed me,” he said. 

In no way, shape, or form had she been prepared to handle that piece of information.

“How did you feel about that?” she asked, hoping against hope she didn’t sound too much like his psychologist. “I mean, did you want him to kiss you? Did he ask you if that was okay first? When did this happen?”

She stopped talking when she realized that the number of questions was starting to overwhelm him; she could see him start to check out mentally. Instead, she resumed her focus on stroking his hair until his gaze was more focused and less distant. 

“I didn’t mind,” Bucky finally said. “I… I wanted him to. But, no, he didn’t ask and it happened shortly after he’d helped me up to his apartment.” 

“James, I’m confused,” she said slowly. “If you were okay with it, what had you so upset when I came to pick you up?” 

“Because of what happened afterwards. Because he fucking regretted doing it and I can’t exactly blame him for that. He’d just seen exactly what having me around involved – found me passed out on the floor at work, thank fuck that didn’t happen when I had a client with me or something – and he realized that kissing me was a mistake because I’m broken and fucked up.”

“Did he actually say that?”

Bucky shook his head. 

“Alright, what did he say?”

“He apologized and said he shouldn’t have done that,” Bucky said flatly. 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe that’s exactly what he meant?” Natasha held up her hand when Bucky immediately started to protest. “James, give me a minute here. Isn’t it possible that he just realized he’d kissed you when you were vulnerable? You’d just blacked out and you were still groggy and unfocused. Maybe he felt like he’d pushed things too far given the state you were in and ending the kiss and apologizing was his attempt to be respectful. I mean, what state were you even in when he kissed you?”

Bucky’s frown was one of confusion. “I don’t know. I think I was okay?”

“But were you still groggy at all? Were you feeling out of it or unfocused?” 

“Maybe? It’s hard to remember. Everything’s just a blur for the most part.”

“Exactly, James. Given that you can barely remember how you were feeling at the time, don’t you think it’s possible that he apologized because he felt like he’d taken advantage of you?” she asked. 

He seemed reluctant to respond to that but after a few moments he grudgingly said, “Anything’s possible.” 

She pulled him closer to press a kiss to his forehead. “Look, it’s just an option. Think about it in the morning, decide what you want to do then. For now, it’s after 3:00 AM and you need rest. You up for moving to your bedroom for the rest of the night?” 

“I can do that.” Bucky buried his face against her chest and exhaled raggedly against her skin. She smoothed his hair back and kissed the top of his head and prayed he would sleep through the night. 

Still, she couldn’t help but plant the seed. “You’ll never know what Steve was thinking unless you ask him.” 

-~-

Although most of her co-workers complained about receiving the opening shift, Jane never minded being the solo one with the 7 AM timeslot. The only exception to this rule was the few occasions where the shop had been short staffed and she’d had to close, left at 1 AM, and was awake by 5:30 to return to the shop and handle setting up and organizing prior to the 8 AM opening time. Still, on the average day, being responsible for setting up the display cases with food, pouring more espresso beans into the machine, unloading the dishwasher, and brewing the first batches of coffee meant that she was also able to put on whatever music she chose and, on the off-chance she finished early, grade a few of the latest tests for the class she TA’ed for.

This morning, however, her typical routine was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her initial response was mild frustration – every week or so, someone decided that the fact that the lights were on and there was someone present in the store meant that the posted opening time didn’t actually matter – and when she turned to the door, she was surprised to see that the person standing there was the blonde, muscular drunk guy from several nights ago. 

“Are you kidding me?” She walked towards the door and gestured through the glass at the hours sign. “We don’t open until 8:00.”

He responded by holding up a coffee mug and offering her a bright smile. 

Intrigued, she opened the door. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t open for another half hour.” 

“I know and I’m sorry for interrupting you,” he said seriously. “But my first class is at 8 and I couldn’t wait any longer.” He handed the cup to her. “This is for you. To replace the one I broke.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” she said automatically, although she found her fingers closing around the handle of the cup.

“Please, I insist. My behavior was inappropriate.” 

“Thank you, um…” She was slightest bit flustered as she tried to remember the name his companion had called him.

“Thor,” he readily supplied for her. “And you are Jane, yes?” 

She nodded and he offered her another wide smile. “Have a good day, Jane. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” 

As he walked away, she found herself struggling for a reason to keep him there for a bit longer. Then she noted the time on her watch and realized that she only had a matter of minutes to finish setting up before the front doors opened. 

She wondered if Darcy would be in that day, then hoped she wouldn’t. The last thing she needed was Darcy figuring out just how flustered Thor made her.

-~-

“Holy shit, you see the newspaper?” was Steve’s greeting when he wandered down from the apartment and into the shop that morning. 

Steve was grateful that Darcy was distracted with the news, given that he’d missed both of his morning classes. Getting up had been a struggle since he’d tossed and turned in bed for half of the night, then tossed and turned on the couch for the remainder of the hours until dawn. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the stricken, broken look on Bucky’s face when Steve had kissed him. All he could think about was the chance that he had ruined everything, not just his friendship with Bucky but also with Natasha. 

The end result was that he had continuously hit snooze on his alarm until he finally managed to turn it off entirely and had returned to consciousness on his own.

“Huh?” Steve murmured in response to Darcy’s greeting. His inability to drink coffee wasn’t exactly helping with his ability to focus and function like a normal human being.

“Did you see the newspaper?” Darcy repeated. “There have been a series of break-ins at some of the shops in Georgetown over the past couple days. Last night, the place that got hit was only a block or two away from here.”

“This is DC,” Steve pointed out, trying to get his thoughts into a coherent order. “Break-ins happen all the time.”

“Yeah, but not in a pattern like this,” Darcy said. “Or at least that’s how the reporters are spinning it.”

“You worried about the store? I sleep right upstairs, Darcy. If anything happens, I’ll hear it.” 

“And hopefully call the cops. You’d better pinky swear on that.” 

“I’ll pinky swear,” he said, then hesitantly added, “Any word from our piercist?”

“Nothing yet. I mean, given what happened yesterday, I figured he’d take the day off. Why? Did he say something about calling when he left last night?”

“No, nothing like that,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “He was still pretty out of it.” And there was that guilt again, stabbing into his chest. “I just wanted to check.” 

Even though he’d checked every five minutes since he properly woke up and intermittently through the night, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and found his messages empty.

“C’mon, Steve, let’s run out and grab coffee, also known as I’ll grab coffee and you can drink tea,” Darcy suggested. “Jane’s got the early shift this morning. We should say hi.” 

Steve glanced at the clock. “It’s already close to ten, Darcy. We shouldn’t close the shop down this early.” 

“You don’t have anything on the books until this afternoon and we’re not taking any walk-ins for piercings since we don’t exactly have our piercist in the shop,” she said with a grin. “You’ve already missed your morning classes, so let’s just accept that you’re a slacker for today and break the rules.” 

Steve’s half-hearted protests went unheard as Darcy dragged him out of the shop. He tried to tell himself that was because she wasn’t listening but he had a feeling it was more because the last thing he wanted was to remain at Shield, lost in his thoughts.

-~-

Nothing in Natasha’s world was going well the next day. All in all, she’d managed maybe an hour of sleep, which was interrupted when Bucky woke up screaming from nightmares. She had spent the time from five to seven trying to calm him down before eventually deciding that another dosage of Xanax would be the only way for him to get anymore rest. As a result, she’d had to send the text to Steve and Darcy, informing them that Bucky wasn’t feeling well and would not be able to make it to work that day, and then wake up Sam to get him ready for work as well. Sam, of course, was sore and miserable from sleeping in a chair all night and getting him, as well as herself, out of the door took the majority of her energy for the morning.

To make things worse, Clint wasn’t waiting for her outside after her morning classes. That worried her. He’d never missed a day before, not at least without shooting her a text if he were sick or something like that. When her texts to him went unanswered and the phone call went straight to voicemail, she determined that Bucky would be fine on his own for a little bit longer if she took the time to stop by Clint’s dorm room.

Although she’d never been there before, she’d found out where he stayed just in case. It wasn’t hard to follow some of the other students inside to avoid the ID scanner outside. From there, it was simple to wander down the hallway until she found the door marked with Clint’s name. She knocked once, twice, and was considering whether kicking the door down would be a poor life decision when the door cracked open and he peered out at her. 

She all but gasped when she saw his face; she was used to seeing him bruised and with the occasional bandage, but she’d never seen him look quite as rough as he did today.

He seemed initially confused to see her, and then he groaned. “Shit, Nat, I’m sorry. I was s’posed to meet you this morning, wasn’t I?” 

She tried not to let on how worried she was and flippantly said, “Yeah, well, you didn’t respond to my texts or calls either and now I can see why. What the hell happened to you last night, Clint? You told me you were working on a paper.”

“Would you believe that the paper just went really, really badly and my phone got damaged in the process?” he asked and forced a laugh. It visibly hurt him, given that he winced and doubled over the slightest bit with a ragged, wet-sounding cough. 

She took the opportunity to force her way into his room, and closed the door behind herself before Lucky could make an attempt at an escape. Clint whistled at his dog and she hopped up on the bed. 

Natasha studied Clint worriedly. Given that he was clad only in a pair of boxers, she could see that the area around his ribs was bruised and tender-looking, and his face appeared progressively worse the longer she looked at him. 

“Did you see a doctor?” she asked. “I mean, shit, Clint, you could have a punctured lung or internal damage.”

He sank down on top of the tangled covers of his dorm room bed. “Spent most of my night at the ER getting everything checked out. No internal damage, just a couple cracked ribs, a concussion, and a hell of a lot of bruising.” 

“You’re still not explaining what happened to you.” She took a seat at the foot of the bed and stared at him intently. 

“I can’t.” He averted his gaze. That just raised more red flags because Clint wasn’t the sort to refuse to meet her eyes. “I can’t, Tasha. I’m not in over my head. That’s all you need to know.” 

“If this is you not in over your head, I’m afraid of what you’re going to look like when you are in over your head,” she said softly. “Clint, I’m worried about you. This isn’t a minor alley-way scuffle gone bad. Someone was trying to do serious damage here.”

“Like I said, I can handle it. I’m fine.”

“You look real fine,” she said with a sigh. “ Look, do you need anything? Painkillers? Food that’s not at risk of crawling out of your fridge and eating you during the night?”

“Painkillers I’ve got. Food’s another story entirely. I was just planning on ordering a pizza.” 

“Do that for lunch. I’ll pick you up something for dinner.” 

“Yeah? You sure?” he asked, but his tone was hopeful. 

“I’m sure.” She reached down to scratch Lucky’s head, and Lucky’s tail thumped happily against the bedspread. “You got enough food for her?”

“About half a bag. She should be good.” 

“Alright.” Natasha studied Clint intently for a moment. “Is there anything else you need?” When his response was no, she said, “Call me if there is.”

At that point, Clint looked a bit forlorn. “My phone’s kinda dead. Like dead-dead, not battery died kinda dead.” 

“Toss it to me,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll get you a new one, transfer all your old data in. You can repay me by buying me dinner at the restaurant of my choice one of these days when you’re not too broken to go out.”

“You sure?” When she nodded, Clint gazed inquisitively around the room before his eyes settled on the pair of jeans – and she didn’t bother to ask how he knew which pair was which given that his entire dorm room floor appeared to be covered in jeans – and searched through them until he came up with the mangled remains of a cell phone. “Thanks, Nat.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be back in a couple hours, probably this evening, once classes are over and I’ve made sure James is safe to be left alone.” She stepped closer, resting one hand lightly on his hip and tilting her head up to press a kiss to one of the few unbruised areas on his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Clint. Get some rest.” 

“I was resting before you woke me up,” he pointed out. She responded to that by shutting him up with a kiss.

She had to wonder how she’d managed to get hooked up with this fuck-up, not that it mattered. He might have been a fuck-up but he was a good man and besides, he was her fuck-up. 

-~- 

“Oh my God, he replaced the broken coffee mug?” Darcy exclaimed. “That is so romantic. Practically a proposal. Maybe it was a proposal. Steve, do you know the mating rituals in Iceland?”

Between ten and eleven, the coffee shop was fairly quiet, with the morning rush over and done with and everyone caffeinated prior to early classes and 9-5 jobs, and the lunch rush not starting quite yet. Steve sipped at a cup of decaffeinated tea. He wished, not for the first time, that his heart wouldn’t start beating out of his chest if he dared to drink caffeine. He could use the boost after his sleepless night. 

“Darcy, what event in my life would have led me to learn about the mating rituals in Iceland?” Steve tiredly asked. Usually Darcy’s over abundance of energy was a good thing; today Steve was just wishing he’d never left bed. 

“I don’t know. You’re smart. I expect you to know everything.” She turned back to Jane. “Did he ask you out? Did you ask him out? You could totally ask him out. Unless that’s a no-no in his culture.” 

“I barely know him,” Jane said. “All I know is that when he gets drunk, he breaks coffee mugs but at least he’s enough of a gentleman to clean up after himself.” 

“And bring you a new one, don’t forget that,” Darcy said. “Not to mention he’s blonde and muscley. I mean, you can’t go wrong there.” 

“I don’t know that I’m in the market for a boyfriend right now,” Jane hedged. “I mean, I spend almost all of my free time here, working, and every other hour of my life I’m either in class or the labs.” 

“You have the weekends,” Darcy pointed out. “You could at least try a date. C’mon, Jane. You need something in your life outside of school and the coffee shop.” 

“I’ll consider it,” was Jane’s response, as the door opened and a pack of college students wandered inside. 

As Jane walked away to take their orders, Darcy leaned over and said, “Steve. Steve. We need to play matchmaker here. Help me out, boss. We need to track down blonde, muscled, and handsome and find a way to get him and Jane together.” 

The mere thought of that much activity made Steve’s head hurt. Then it occurred to him that if Darcy was focused on setting up Jane and the blonde, she wouldn’t be focused on setting up Steve and Bucky. Given that Steve couldn’t even think about Bucky without feeling sick to his stomach, anything that would distract Darcy from asking about him was a good thing. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll send a message to Tony, he might be able to give us more information about Thor since he seems to know everything about everyone. If I can figure out where blondie is most likely to be tonight, maybe you can get Jane out of the lab for one night and we can try to set them up. Sound good?” 

If nothing else, that would give Steve less time to think about how he’d taken advantage of Bucky and ruined everything there.

-~-

When Natasha reached the townhouse, she discovered that Bucky had at least summoned the energy to leave bed. She found him curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and looking miserable, but at least not wallowing in self-pity alone in his bedroom. The TV was on and Natasha recognized the first season of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , not that Bucky seemed to be paying any attention to it. 

She tossed her bag into the chair. “How’re you feeling?”

“I didn’t even call into work this morning to let them know I wouldn’t be there,” he said miserably. “What kind of a person does that?” 

She immediately regretted her decision to leave him alone for this long. It was evident he’d been ruminating non-stop about this subject since he’d woken up.

“James, you explained your conditions to them at the beginning. Given what happened yesterday, I’m pretty sure they weren’t expecting you to come in. They probably would have been surprised if you had.”

“Still, I should’ve called, but then I thought about calling and it was already late and I thought about what would happen if Steve answered and I didn’t know what I’d say to him, and then I thought about what would happen if Darcy answered and I wasn’t sure if Steve might have told her what happened, so I didn’t know what I’d say to her either, and so I just gave up and didn’t call. Then I felt like shit for not calling so I considered just jumping out a window because it seemed easier, but I didn’t to do that either because that’s fucked up, and I don’t want to die. I’m just so fucking tired and my head hurts from thinking this much and I don’t know what to do, Nat.” His rush of words stopped as his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears and he quietly repeated, “I don’t know what the fuck to do.” 

Natasha crossed the room and gently nudged him until he was sitting up enough that she could slip onto the couch behind him. He curled up against her without protest, and she wrapped her arms protectively around his shoulders. There was no need to bring up how much she hated his references to even contemplating hurting himself like that; there had been plenty of those moments in the past where she’d quite literally on occasion had to talk him down from a ledge. Bucky had at least reached the point now where those thoughts were fleeting and rarely considered for more than a moment, let alone long enough to form a complete plan and take action.

“James, you need to calm down and I think… I think you should call Dr. Jones. See if you can set up a session with him today or tomorrow. He could help you process what happened.” She didn’t add that on the off-chance Bucky had been destabilized enough to consider harming himself, Dr. Jones could take additional steps; to the extreme of involuntarily hospitalizing Bucky, or to the less extreme of creating a plan to keep Bucky safe until he was able to manage his level of distress stemming from the incident with Steve.

Bucky initially balked. Natasha fought the urge to remind him of each and every time he’d refused to attend a session, later been convinced, and identified that he felt better afterwards. Instead, she forced him to write down a list of pros and cons on two sheets of paper, one for attending a session, one for not attending a session, and then left him to come up to his own decision.

She managed to hide her pleased smile when Bucky grumbled and reached for the phone.


	7. So Tear Me Open, But Beware, There's Things Inside Without A Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has an exhausting therapy session and Steve regrets his life and choices and makes an accidental enemy in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mid-week update! Stay tuned for the massive update scheduled for the weekend that will include Bucky and Steve's conversation and potential reconciliation.

“James.” 

The voice startled him. Bucky blinked, frowning in confusion as he registered he was no longer sitting in Natasha’s townhouse. There was the green fabric of the chair underneath him and the sand garden on the table. The degrees on the wall provided the last clue to his current location but as soon as he held that realization steady in his mind, everything started to slip again. 

“James,” the voice repeated. He tried to keep himself focused on that. In the back of his mind, the numbers 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 were coming. They signaled him to do something but it seemed to take too much effort to figure out what. 

“James, I want you to tap your foot against the floor. Can you do that?” 

His brow furrowed in response to the strange request, but he nodded and tapped. That was a task, something his mind could focus on, something steady. There was a pattern, a rhythm, and each time his foot made contact with the floor, the fog in his brain eased up the slightest bit. 

By the time his foot slowed, the bits and pieces from the past several hours were fitting together again. There were blank spaces, but at least he knew where he was now. Although he couldn’t remember the specifics, given that his hair was still damp, he had to imagine he’d even done something to clean himself up before going out into public. 

“Sorry, doc,” he groaned. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. “Guess the past few days haven’t been that easy on me.” 

Even now, he could feel himself starting to slip again. He knew enough to recognize the signs that, if anything, he was angry with himself. He’d spent the last several months learning anything and everything about grounding techniques, ways to keep himself present, and here he was dissociating nonstop like he had when he’d first started therapy.

“James, can you open your eyes?” He did. “Now, can you reach into your right pocket?” Dr. Jones asked. Bucky responded automatically. He pulled out the piece of Connemara marble he never left the house without. “That’s good. You’re doing really well.” 

The stone was cool to the touch and well worn; it fit into his hand perfectly. He squeezed his hand into a fist around it, welcoming the bite as some of the sharper edges dug into his skin. It helped clear his head a bit more. 

He exhaled slowly and his heart rate calmed – which was interesting, given that he hadn’t noticed his heart was racing to begin with. He did his best to focus on the figure sitting in the chair across from him. His peripheral vision remained off, hazy and unfocused with shadows crawling and winding around the edges of the room. He tried not to think about that for too long because he knew he’d just find himself going under again. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” were the first fully coherent words out of his mouth. “I fucked up.” 

Normally, he would have been challenged, but instead all Dr. Jones said was, “It’s alright, James. You haven’t fucked up at all. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m… I’m here.” He cursed the slight hesitation in his response. “I’m just… fuck, man, I’m just tired.” 

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Dr. Jones asked gently. “When we spoke on the phone, you’d mentioned that some event had occurred and that you wanted to come in to process it.” 

He groaned again and closed his eyes. This time he didn’t feel himself slipping, and so he left his eyes closed. That would be easier than having to study the expression on Dr. Jones’ face when he started to talk. 

“Things were going really well.” He surprised himself by admitting that but wasn’t it the truth? They had been going well. That was why what happened was such a letdown and why he was such a fuck-up and failure. “I was working, I was making friends, hell, I was even going out to new restaurants and places without any difficulty. Sure, I’d had a couple of panic attacks, but that shit happens, and I was handling everything.” 

He trailed off and Dr. Jones gave him a good minute to resume talking before prompting with, “What changed?”

“I had a black out at work. No warning signs. Nothing. One moment I was putting my gear away, the next I was waking up on the floor. That was… that was just how it started though.” He realized for the first time that he’d never mentioned his bisexuality to Dr. Jones before, never had a need to. Whatever. Better to blurt it out and have it over and done with. “To make a long story short, I have a co-worker – Steve – and I kinda like him. He was trying to help me out afterwards and we… we kissed. Well, he kissed me. Then pulled away and started apologizing, like he regretted it.” 

“What do you think he regretted about the kiss?” Dr. Jones asked. 

Bucky was so grateful that there was no hint of disgust or anything else in his psychologist’s voice. 

“I don’t know. Nat suggested that maybe he felt like he was taking advantage of me or something. Because of what had just happened.” 

“That’s certainly a theory but, James, I’m more curious about what you think his reason was.” 

As always, Dr. Jones managed to dig right into the one spot Bucky didn’t want to talk about and, as always, the words pretty much came out in a rush that he couldn’t stop even if he’d tried. “I think he realized he made a mistake. Not because of that but because of me. Because I’m me. Because… because I’m fucked up and broken and he knows that. Hell, he just saw that when he found me on the floor. He’d been lucky before then, he hadn’t seen how bad I could get, even though I’d warned him. These were all hypothetical constructs before. I mean, hell, doc, who the hell would want something like me? I’ve got a fucking metal arm and a fucked up head. I’m nothing but a burden to anyone who cares about me.” 

“Some _thing_ like you?” Dr. Jones echoed.

Bucky felt something crack inside of him.

“Yeah, some _thing_ like me. I don’t even feel like a human. I’m just a goddamn empty shell, with parts that are actually metal.” 

“How often do you feel like an empty shell?” 

“It comes and goes. It’s not constant. Sometimes I feel almost human.” 

“What’s different during those times?”

Bucky paused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to think back on the last time he felt that way. All of the memories he was able to pull up were times when he’d felt unfocused and checked out, or was in a state of panic. His heart rate increased again, this time due to frustration – and he congratulated himself on identifying his emotional state in the present moment – and then a clear memory – dancing with Steve - finally popped into his head. 

“I’m happy. At those times, I’m happy. I’m not scared. I’m not angry. I’m not dissociating. I’m with people and I’m… I’m actually a participant and not an observer.” 

“So, help me out here, James,” Dr. Jones said. Bucky already knew he was about to be indirectly challenged. “If you’re just an empty shell but you also have these times when you’re happy and engaged with the world where you don’t feel that way, how exactly does that work? Can an empty shell feel emotions?” 

Bucky shook his head. 

“Can an empty shell enjoy interacting with others and the world?” 

Bucky shook his head again. 

“So, I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that maybe you’re not an empty shell all the time and that Steve’s seen that you’re not an empty shell.”

“Which means my theory is probably wrong,” Bucky acknowledged with a sigh. 

Dr. Jones paused before saying, “James, how do you feel when you think about the alternative explanation? That Steve wanted to kiss you and that, perhaps, his response and apology afterwards were due to his fear that he had crossed those boundaries and taken advantage of you?”

Bucky frowned. He hadn’t taken much time to think about that option or his emotions surrounding it. All at once, he noted the knots of tension in his chest and the sense that his throat was closing up, and choked out, “Afraid.”

“What about that frightens you?”

“…The thought of him coming to see me the way I see myself.” 

“But isn’t that already what you’ve been afraid of?” Dr. Jones challenged. 

“It would be different though, if he didn’t already feel that way. I would have… I would have had hope.”

“So, it’s the fear of having something good taken away from you again,” Dr. Jones said, and then he asked a question that shook everything to the core in Bucky’s world. “Is there a chance that you feel as though you don’t deserve good things to happen to you?”

Bucky couldn’t even manage words. Suddenly there were no thoughts left in his mind, just images and sensation. A flash of light, blinding him. Screams. Burned flesh. The taste of iron in the back of his throat. The pain, oh god, the pain. Colors, black and red, and was he blind permanently? A voice. Sam’s voice. Repeating his name. Other voices. More voices. Words he didn’t understand. Dead? Who was dead? Was he dead?

He didn’t want to go there. He wouldn’t go there. He couldn’t. 

A sudden, stinging pain in his legs brought him back to the present and he found himself on his knees on the floor of the office. His breath came in gasps as Dr. Jones repeated his name. The echo was far too familiar, too close to Sam’s voice in his head, and he quickly rasped out, “I’m fine. I’m back.” Then, because he knew if he didn’t say it now, he wouldn’t say it at all, he forced the words out. “Yeah, yeah, there’s a damn good chance of that.” 

-~-

“Natasha?” 

She glanced up from the book she’d been reading. Faint lines of worry were evident on Dr. Jones’ face as he peered out at her.

“Would you mind joining us for the last several minutes of the session?” 

She nodded, closing her book and returning it to her bag before she followed after Dr. Jones to the room. Inside the room, Bucky curled up in one chair with his knees drawn to his chest. He was exhausted and ragged but surprisingly relaxed.

“James had a rough session,” Dr. Jones said. “He did a lot of good work but it was hard on him. We closed out with a relaxation exercise, which he said helped, but he agreed that he wanted you to be aware of what happened. I have asked him to share the specifics with you, if he chooses to, but I think it is important for you to know that he spent the first half of the session dissociating and had a flashback during the second half. There is a possibility that he may find himself triggered again after he leaves here. I want one of you - preferably James but if he is not able to, I would appreciate if you would, Natasha – to call me if necessary.” 

“Of course.” Natasha reached over to squeeze Bucky’s hand. 

He returned the squeeze and offered her a tired smile that was close enough to genuine to ease her worry a bit. 

“James has denied any current thoughts of wanting to harm himself but if that changes, I trust that he still has the safety plan we came up with,” Dr. Jones said. 

Natasha nodded. “He does and I’m aware of the steps as well.” She smoothed Bucky’s hair back. “Thank you, Dr. Jones, for fitting him into your schedule on late notice and for taking the time to make sure he was safe. We both appreciate it.” 

“I was more than happy to do it,’ Dr. Jones assured them. He turned his attention to Bucky. “I’ll see you next week, James. As I said, call me if you need anything before then.” 

“I will,” Bucky said tiredly. “Thanks.” 

Natasha held his hand. “Come on, James, let’s go home.” 

-~-

Bucky hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the way back to the townhouse, but apparently he had. He woke up curled up in his bed to discover that two hours had passed since the last time he remembered looking at the clock. His body felt sore, ragged and exhausted, but the terrible crushing weight that had been on him since the incident in the shop had faded to almost nothing. 

Natasha – presumably – had left his cell phone on his desk. He had one new message waiting for him, and found himself indescribably pleased to see that it came from Steve. All it said was, “Hope you’re feeling better, Buck.” But Bucky had to admit that knowing Steve thought about him long enough to formulate and send a text message made him incredibly hopeful. 

He hesitated, then responded. “Thanks. I am.” Before he could rethink his actions, he added, “Can we talk tomorrow night after work?” and pressed send.

He waited for about five minutes to see if he’d get a response and then determined that tracking down Natasha would probably be a better use of his time. He found her in the living room, this time accompanied by Clint, who looked substantially worse than usual, which was saying something. There were also several containers of Chinese food and a mangy dog sitting on the floor next to the couch. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asked.

Clint easily replied, “I could ask you the same question, Barnes.” 

Bucky managed to raise an eyebrow and offer a half-smirk, half-smile. “I can’t say I’ve looked in a mirror in the past couple hours but I’m pretty sure your face looks worse than mine.” 

“You say that now. But like you said, you haven’t looked in a mirror recently.”

“You’re hilarious.” Bucky accentuated the words with an eye roll.

“Given the state Clint was in, I invited him over to spend the night.” Natasha studied Bucky intently as she spoke.

“As long as that’s cool with you,” Clint said. “Me and Lucky don’t mind heading back to the dorm if that’s what you need.”

“Nah, it’s fine, as long as you’re not gonna be disturbed by screams in the night,” Bucky said as he took a seat on one of the chairs. 

Clint seemed quite unconcerned. “I think I can handle that. Want some Chinese food? Nat bought enough to feed everyone on the block.” 

“By which he means that he ordered enough to feed everyone on the block,” Natasha muttered. “Still. You hungry, James? I can make you up a plate.” 

His stomach immediately clenched in response and he quickly shook his head. He regretted his life and choices when his vision grayed out for an instant following the quick head movement. “Nah, my appetite and stomach are still all fucked to hell. You know how it goes with me sometimes.” 

Natasha gave him a worried look. “Alright, well, let me know if that changes.” 

Bucky decided to take the opportunity to turn the focus off of himself. “Clint, you still haven’t mentioned what happened to you.” 

“I had a bad night. Sometimes bad nights happen.” 

“Don’t take it personally, James,” Natasha said. “He hasn’t shared anymore than that with me either.” 

“Because you share everything with us, Ms. I’d-tell-you-what-I-do-for-a-living-but-I’d-have-to-kill you,” Clint replied. 

“He does have a point,” Bucky acknowledged. 

Natasha was unconcerned. “You both know what I do for a living. I’m a student, just like Clint here.” 

Something about Clint’s expression shifted the slightest bit in response to that statement, but before Bucky could comment on it, his phone chirped at him. Steve’s name appeared on the caller ID, and he opened the message. 

“Of course we can. Just send me a text when you’re on your way.” 

Simple. Sweet. To the point. 

Bucky didn’t have a choice now. He had to follow through with the plan. One way or another, he’d have an answer about Steve and Steve’s intentions towards him by tomorrow night. 

-~-

Steve had never spent much time out at the bars in DC, aside from the few occasions where Darcy managed to drag him out to socialize. He wasn’t opposed to them, in theory, but alcohol never had a particularly beneficial effect on him and regardless of how little he consumed, he always seemed to wake up with a hangover. 

Still, if there had ever been a night to go out and drink, it was probably this one. Tony had quite eagerly accepted the challenge of finding out everything he could about Thor. An hour later, Steve had been struggling to take notes as Tony provided all of the details without pausing for breath or giving Steve a chance to ask questions.

He’d found out that, yes, Thor was from Iceland and the son of the ambassador. His brother – the dark haired companion Steve had seen with him – was Loki who had been adopted by Thor’s family as an infant. That explained the difference between their appearances. Thor was a transfer student, majoring in Political Communication and International Affairs, and anticipated to eventually follow in his father footsteps. Loki, on the other hand, was majoring in Archeology and seemed to have shifted his personal interests away from the interests of his adoptive father and brother. 

Additionally, Tony came up with the information regarding Thor’s favorite bars in the city based on the particular day of the week. That was the only reason Steve was sitting at a table with Darcy, watching Thor at the bar, and sipping a beer. He was now aware that bars had special names for each day of the week, starting with ‘Messed up Monday,’ ‘Tipsy Tuesday,’ ‘Wasted Wednesday,’ ‘Thirsty Thursday,’ and ending with ‘Fucked up Friday.’ He had the added benefit of knowing which bars had the best deals of these specific days, and that apparently coincided with Thor’s choice of bar on any given day. 

“Alright, Steve, you remember the plan,” Darcy said.

Steve sighed and nodded. 

“Yes. You stay here, I talk to Thor, and then, theoretically, the magic happens.” 

He wondered, as he got to his feet – and was the world really supposed to feel that unsteady when one had only consumed a beer and a half? - what qualified him for acting as matchmaker when his own relationship situation was a disaster. He finished off his beer with another several gulps and felt all the more prepared to walk – or at least stumble - over to where Thor and Loki sat. As he stumbled his way over to the bar, he mentally rehearsed everything he was supposed to say to Thor.

At the least, he couldn’t screw things up more here than he already had in his own life. 

-~-

Loki spotted the scrawny blonde walking towards them before he’d crossed halfway across the room. Loki always had plenty of time to save some of his attention for the room and the people around him. With his brother beside him, people tended not to pay him much mind, which suited him just fine overall. That provided him the opportunity to listen and create a mental file of everyone he interacted with, and the chance to save that information whenever it was needed.

That information was always needed. Sometimes it just took awhile to find the right moment to use it. 

Loki didn’t know much about the blonde. Admittedly, that made him uneasy. He’d seen him around infrequently, and he was reasonably certain he was an art student, probably from Corcoran. Loki seemed to recall that he’d heard the kid was a tattoo artist and seen a few samples of his artwork on people’s bodies. He hadn’t seen him at any of the bars more than once or twice, the reason for which was evident when the clearly drunk kid stumbled up to them. Barely consuming two beers shouldn’t lead to that type of effect, but given that the kid looked well under one hundred pounds, it wasn’t surprising that alcohol should hit him this hard. 

“Hey, uh, Thor?” the blonde asked.

Loki made a mental note of the lack of greeting for him. 

“That would be me.” Thor said. “You’re Steve, yes? I have heard about your tattoo shop and the work you do.” 

“You have? Really?” Steve was a bit thrown off at that. “Well, um, thanks. I was actually coming over to talk to you because I talked to Jane earlier. She’d mentioned that you stopped by to drop off a new coffee mug for her this morning. She really appreciated that.” 

“She did?” Thor asked in surprise. Loki had to admit that he was rather surprised as well – one, that Thor had done that without his knowledge and two, that it would mean so much to the waitress. “I had thought that my previous actions had already created a poor first impression with her.” 

“Not at all,” Steve assured him. “She’s interested in seeing you again.”

“And what do you know about this girl, this Jane?”

Loki had to fight to not grit his teeth. The last thing he needed was for Thor to have another girl falling at his feet, particularly one as interesting and intelligent as Jane appeared to be.

“She likes stars.” Steve seemed to immediately regret his words, judging by his facial expression following that statement. “I mean, she likes astronomy. I mean, she’s an astrophysicist. Or trying to be one. She’s smart.” 

“How would one get her attention? Talk about stars with her?” Thor asked. 

“She’d appreciate that. You could also take her to the Air and Space Museum, she’d probably enjoy that, although I guess she’s probably already been there.”

“Thank you.” Thor offered Steve his hand. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter. I’ll stop by the coffee shop to speak with Jane again.”

Loki watched as Steve stumbled his way back to his table and flashed a thumbs up sign to the dark-haired girl still sitting over there. Thor focused on finishing his beer. Loki had no doubt that the next place the two of them would be visiting would be the coffee shop. 

Of course, it shouldn’t surprise him. They’d finally met an intelligent, fascinating woman – not like the usual ones his brother seemed to surround himself with – and naturally she would be interested in Thor instead of him. Not that Loki had any illusions of starting a relationship with Jane himself. After all, he wasn’t exactly the relationship type, but this was yet another instance of his brother getting something else that Loki wanted. Just as Thor had their father’s power and position, now he also now had the one woman Loki might have been interested in for more than a matter of hours. 

All of this was Steve’s fault, of course. If he hadn’t informed Thor of Jane’s interest in him, Loki had no doubt that this entire situation would never have progressed. Thor would have forgotten her sooner or later.

Clearly, he would have to find out more about the scrawny, blonde tattoo artist. 

There were always ways to punish people. You just had to find out what would hurt them the most.


	8. I'm Hooked On A Feeling (I'm High On Believing That You're In Love With Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve finally talk and reach a resolution, Natasha has an enforced night of self-care, and a threesome occurs.

_Hey, Buck. You still planning on stopping by later?_

The text was waiting for Bucky when he woke up the following morning – well, afternoon, if he were to be honest with himself. Still half-asleep, he tried to consider the different options for responding. For instance, he could always say no. Going to talk to Steve seemed like a poor decision after a night of fitful sleeping and with a distinct lack of Xanax in his system. Then again, not talking to Steve wasn’t exactly an option either unless he planned to leave his job and hide out in Natasha’s townhouse for all eternity. 

As tempting as that option seemed at the moment, he could hear Dr. Jones’ voice in his head, confronting him about his choices and motivations until he admitted that wasn’t healthy. If he were to be honest, he could identify that wasn’t what he wanted either. Before everything went to shit, he hadn’t been this happy in longer than he could remember, probably not since he shipped out the first time and definitely not since the loss of his arm. 

He ran a hand over his face, massaging his temples for a moment, and hoped against hope that the tension behind his eyes and forehead wasn’t a sign that he was going to get taken down by a head splitting migraine before the afternoon. 

On the other hand, he hoped that might be exactly what happened.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, Bucky forced his fingers to formulate a response and hit send without stopping to reread his message.

Natasha had blessedly left the bottle of Xanax on the nightstand, apparently confident enough in his mental stability that she didn’t expect him to overdose by taking the entire bottle. He shook one of the pills into his hand. Too tired to walk to the bathroom and get a glass of water, he swallowed it dry and then flopped back into his bed. 

If nothing else, he could sleep for a few more hours.

-~-

Steve’s phone chimed at him an hour into his latest appointment. He maintained his focus, watching as the needles traced a pattern over the skin, and continued his rhythm of alternatively dipping the needles into the ink and continuing the design. He tried not to let his thoughts wander towards who that message might have come from. He had a job to complete and even if the message came from Bucky, looking at it now versus looking at it in an hour wouldn’t make a whole hell of a lot of difference. 

The low-grade hangover he’d been nursing all day hadn’t exactly been helping. Dragging himself out of bed that morning had taken more energy than he had. Without the benefit of coffee, he’d struggled for the first hour until Darcy showed up with a disgustingly greasy breakfast burrito and a slushie. Somehow the combination of the food and the shaved ice and sugary syrup had lessened the pounding in his head and nausea to a manageable level. 

Thankfully, as always, it was easy to lose himself in the artwork. The next half-hour went by quickly, and Steve had all but forgotten the text message by the time he handed his client the discharge and after-care instructions. It wasn’t until Darcy asked, “Any word from Robocop?” that he remembered he had a text message to check.

_Yeah. I’ll be at the shop by six._

He glanced at the clock. 

Four more hours to go. 

-~-

“James?” 

Natasha’s voice was gentle and calming and familiar and helped break through the fog in his mind. He blinked, surprised to find that the car was parked a block away from Shield, given that he couldn’t even remember leaving the apartment. When Natasha’s voice came again, he managed to keep himself focused long enough to register that she’d probably been trying to keep him present for the majority of the past hour.

The pieces from the last hour came back to him slowly. When Natasha had offered to drive him over to Shield, he’d accepted based on his apprehension of even initiating the conversation with Steve, let alone how to manage the potential outcome of this conversation. Before they left the townhouse, she’d taken care to make sure Bucky had the necessities on him: the key to Shield, for instance, as well as his cell phone and wallet. 

“You ready?” she asked.

Bucky managed to nod because his throat wasn’t opening enough to let him form words yet. 

Everything seemed strange and wrong as he stepped out of the car. He recognized the sights and sounds – he knew the name for each shop and the traffic was slow and rhythmic, just as it always was at this hour – but nothing felt right. It was as though he’d stepped into an alternate dimension, another form of reality, where everything was the same but reversed or wrong. 

Natasha’s hand slipped against his own, her fingers wrapping around his hand and squeezing gentle, and the world seemed to sharpen a bit. Everything felt more familiar and correct. Bucky clung equally as tightly to that feeling as he did to her hand as they walked down the block. 

His hand shook when he went to open the door, and he realized he couldn’t manage to fit the key into the lock. With Natasha’s help, he finally managed to unlock the door and went inside, grateful to find that Darcy had already left and Steve was apparently upstairs in his apartment. 

Natasha squeezed his hand. “Would you like me to stay at the bottom of the stairs and wait for you?” 

Bucky nodded automatically and almost choked on his words. “I’d appreciate that.” Thankfully, the next words of, “Thanks, Nat” came a bit easier. 

She offered him a smile and kissed his cheek. “Anytime, James.” She squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. 

The world seemed to fall out of focus immediately but he forced himself to continue moving. The stairs felt longer than he remembered, with more steps to walk up. When he glanced behind to check on Natasha, it seemed as though the amount of stairs he’d covered was significantly shorter than it had felt walking up, although she still felt too far away. When his hand lifted, he felt a flash of surprise, as though the hand were not even under his control or attached to his body. But there was his hand, knocking on Steve’s door, and there was the door opening to reveal Steve standing on the other side. 

Bucky’s smile was close to genuine, an automatic reaction to seeing Steve stand there, and he found his words enough to murmur, “Hey, Steve.”

Steve took a step back, allowing Bucky to step inside, and then closed the door behind him. Bucky tried to stop his mind from comparing the sound of the apartment door closing to the sound of a prison cell shutting behind him. Then again, his mind was focused enough to register that Steve’s body language appeared as uncomfortable as Bucky felt. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, and Bucky knew the same body language was reflected in himself as well.

“Can I… uh… can I get you anything?” Steve awkwardly asked.

“As much as I’d like to say vodka, that might be a bad idea,” Bucky said with a slightly humorless chuckle. “Not that I’d say no if you were offering that.” 

“Shit, no, I’m sorry.” Steve looked legitimately guilty and embarrassed. “I don’t have any hard liquor. Just beer. I, uh, I don’t really drink much myself and I don’t have friends over enough to keep a liquor cabinet stocked.”

“No worries,” Bucky said quickly. “That’s fine. I probably shouldn’t be drinking. Too many meds in my system for that.”

Steve’s expression of guilt increased. “Shit, Bucky. Seriously? Are… are you feeling any better at least?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been doing better overall.” That was somewhat a lie, even if Bucky ignored his psychological well-being and focused entirely on the physical side of everything. “I mean, I’m still pretty tired and I’ve been getting dizzy but I’m… I’m better than I was when you last saw me.”

“I’m glad to hear it…” Steve trailed off. He chewed on his lower lip for several moments before he spoke again. “Look, I’m so fucking sorry about what happened. I wasn’t thinking – and I know that doesn’t excuse it. I was completely out of line and I never should’ve put you in that position.” His expression broke the slightest bit. “If, uh, if you can’t forgive me, I can understand that and if it’s too awkward to work here, I can give you a couple weeks paid leave and see about hooking you up with another tattoo parlor.” 

At his words, Bucky’s heart spasmed and clenched and, for a moment or two, he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. He hadn’t been able to hide a flinch in response to Steve’s words or control his facial muscles enough not to look utterly miserable. Of course it was the employment side of things that Steve was worried about. At the least Bucky knew now. 

Still, he couldn’t help but ask for clarification. “Why are you sorry?” 

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because I kissed you, obviously. I mean, shit, Bucky, you’d just passed out and you were still pretty messed up and I didn’t even ask you for permission, I just did it. Not to mention the fact that you’re with Natasha and that’s not right for me to do something like that when you’re with her. I mean… I was out of line.” 

Bucky tried to process everything Steve had said – it fell in line with some of the rationale Natasha had suggested – but he got stuck on the last part. “I’m not with Natasha. Not like that.”

“Huh?” Steve finally managed to drag his gaze from the floor, back to Bucky. “But I’ve seen the two of you together, how you interact with each other…” 

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not with her. We dated in high school, broke up when I shipped out the first time, and since then, I mean, yeah, there’ve been times where we’ve been more than friends. But we’re not in a relationship. She’s got something going on with Clint and I think also Sam. I guess for awhile me and her have been in this hazy, undefined relationship that Dr. Jones would probably lecture me about because he’s always talking to me about setting proper boundaries in my relationships but it’s not… it’s not like that…”

He was going off on a tangent and forced himself back on track. “Me and Natasha aren’t together and you deserve to know what’s been going on with me and her and where things stand now.” For a moment, Bucky thought about cutting himself off and shutting up, but the words were already coming and coming too fast for him to stop. “Because… because I didn’t mind that you kissed me. I liked it. I can’t say that I wanted it exactly, because that would be a lie, not because I didn’t want it but because I wasn’t thinking about kissing you when you kissed me. I’d thought about it before though and I… I didn’t mind.”

Bucky couldn’t quite look at Steve, but he could see enough that he saw Steve’s arms uncross and lower back to his side. “Wait… seriously? You… you wanted me to kiss you?” Steve sounded incredulous. “You’re not just saying that or something?” 

“Why would I just say that to say it? I mean, didn’t I just bring up boundaries – or the lack thereof - in my relationships? Saying that kinda shit if I didn’t mean it wouldn’t exactly be good boundaries, would it?” 

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” Steve murmured. “So… why did you get so upset over the kiss then?” 

“I wasn’t upset over you kissing me,” Bucky said quickly. “I was upset over what happened afterwards. I thought… I mean, I figured… that, uh, that you regretted kissing me.” 

Bucky made the mistake of raising his head to meet Steve’s gaze, just in time to see the expression of guilt return to Steve’s face. “No, no, I wasn’t regretting it. I just… like I said before, what I did was okay because I hadn’t asked you and you weren’t feeling well. That’s why I apologized. I was selfish and you didn’t deserve that.” 

Bucky laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, of course, that wasn’t the direction my mind took it in, but then again, my mind’s pretty fucked up. I figured you regretted kissing me because… I mean, uh, you can guess why I thought that.” 

“Can’t say that I can.”

Bucky sighed and steeled himself for Steve’s response. “I’m kind of a fucked up mess, Steve. Not the kind of person someone wants to be with. Not like that.” 

“That’s not true,” Steve said. “I’ve never thought of you like that.”

There was an awkward silence where Bucky couldn’t manage to find the words to respond to that without saying something unfortunate like, “Well, yeah, but you barely know me.” Steve thankfully, finally asked, “So, uh, are we okay?” 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, we’re okay.” 

Steve seemed to be on the verge of asking something else, then stopped himself. It left Bucky with the feeling that his eventual question that came out of Steve’s mouth wasn’t the one he’d initially wanted to ask. “You feeling ready to come back to work soon?” 

“Yeah, I planned on coming back tomorrow,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry about the business you lost the last day or two.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for that, Bucky, you weren’t feeling well. That’s the same as taking a couple sick days and you wouldn’t need to apologize for that.” 

The thought of coming back with everything still feeling unresolved was enough to convince Bucky to ask, “Where does this leave things with us?” 

Of course, Steve gave the most unhelpful response. “Where do you want this to leave us?” 

“I don’t know.” Frustration crept into his voice. “I mean, I guess I know where I’d like for it to leave us… but I don’t want… I mean, fuck, Steve, I don’t want you to just pity me and that to influence any of your decisions.” 

“It doesn’t,” Steve assured him. “I don’t pity you. But… uh… could I ask you something?” 

Bucky found himself mimicking Steve’s earlier body language and crossing his arms over his chest, creating a protective barrier between himself and Steve. As much as he didn’t want to agree, he shrugged one shoulder and murmured, “Yeah, sure. What’s on your mind?” 

Steve hesitated for a moment. “How long were you thinking about kissing me?” 

Bucky lowered his gaze. “A couple of days, give or take, I guess. How long had you been thinking about kissing me before you did, or was just that a spur of the moment type of thing?” 

“A couple days,” Steve said, throwing the same answer Bucky had given right back at him and making Bucky wonder if that was actually the truth. 

Bucky’s teeth worried at his lower lip before he decided just to stop censoring himself and ask the questions on his mind. “Would you kiss me again?” 

He couldn’t look at Steve’s face and the words only gave him a piece of the information. “I mean… sure, yeah, but only if you were okay with it.” 

“And if I were?” Bucky asked, with a boldness he hadn’t expected from himself. 

“If you were, then, then yes, I would,” Steve said.

Bucky’s arms dropped back to his sides and his shoulders straightened. When he finally managed to meet Steve’s eyes, he could see that although Steve looked the slightest bit nervous, he also pleased and excited. Before he could stop himself, Bucky crossed the room in two strides and pressed his lips against Steve’s. 

Steve’s lips formed a grin against his own, and then Steve’s fingers were in his hair, holding him close. Bucky forced his metal arm to remain at his side, uncomfortable with the thought of touching Steve with it during a moment like this, but his flesh-and-blood arm readily wrapped around Steve’s skinny frame and tugged him nearer. 

For the first time, Bucky realized what exactly Dr. Jones meant when he discussed mindfulness – and goddamn, this was not a great time to be thinking about his psychologist – but he’d never been more in the moment and present than he was right now. He was aware of the sensation of Steve’s fingers against his scalp, the pressure and texture of Steve’s lips against his own, and the warmth of Steve’s body pressed against him. He lost track of time and place. Normally that would’ve been cause for concern because it would’ve been a sign that he was checking out and going away, but he was pretty sure he’d never been more solidly in his head or body. 

When Steve finally pulled away, both of them were gasping for breath, and for the first time Bucky remembered that he’d left Natasha sitting on the steps. 

Steve seemed to be having the same thought. “Not that I want to stop but, uh, didn’t you leave Natasha downstairs? I heard the two of you talking when you came in.” 

“Shit, yeah, I did,’ Bucky murmured. “I’ll talk to her. See if she wants to head back home since, uh, it looks like we’re gonna be awhile.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed. “She’s not going to be mad, is she?” 

“If I ask her if she wants to leave? Hell no. She’ll probably throw a fucking party,” Bucky said with a laugh. 

Steve’s expression eased up. “Seriously? I mean, okay, if you’re sure she’s not going to have a problem with it…”

“I’m 110% sure she’ll be fine.” 

He pressed one more kiss to Steve’s lips before reluctantly stepping away and opening the door to the shop. Natasha still sat on the stairs, her phone in her hand, but she glanced up when the door opened. Her lips quirked into a slow smirk as she studied Bucky’s appearance, and he registered for the first time that his hair was a mess and his clothes were rumpled. 

“I’m going to take a wild, potentially off-target guess and say that everything went well, huh?” she inquired. 

He grinned. “Yeah, uh, you could say that.” 

“I told you so and you should know by now that I’m always right.” Natasha went to get to her feet and Bucky offered her his hand to help her up. “I’m guessing you won’t be needing a ride back tonight, will you?” 

“Probably not, no. Thanks for bringing me over here and, well, everything else.”

“Don’t mention it, James,” she said softly. “I’m just glad to see you smile again.” She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly for a moment, and then stepped back with a smirk. “Don’t stay up too late.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to. After all, I have to get up early. I have work tomorrow, even if work is just right downstairs.” 

She kissed his cheek. “That’s my boy. Have a good night, James. I’m happy for you.” 

“Goodnight, Natasha,” he murmured and pulled her in for one more hug. 

She accepted the gesture, then pushed him away. “Your boyfriend’s waiting for you.” 

Bucky felt a touch of apprehension as he headed back up the stairs. What if Steve’s reaction had been spur of the moment? What if he’d had time to rethink everything? What if Bucky had just sent away the one person he could rely on if all of this went to shit?

The fact that each and every one of those statements had just started with ‘What if,’ something he might not have thought of months ago when he first started therapy, before he learned terms like ‘cognitive distortions’ and methods of identifying unhelpful thoughts. Any thought that started with ‘What if’ wasn’t helpful because that was just anticipating trouble without any way to solve anything since technically nothing was wrong. 

Still, he had to take a deep breath before he opened the door and stepped back inside. 

Steve scrambled up from the seat he’d taken on the couch. “So, what’s the verdict?” 

Bucky managed an almost smile that probably betrayed his nerves. “Like I figured, she’s ready to throw us a party. She couldn’t be happier.” 

“Yeah? Glad to hear it, since that makes two of us,” Steve murmured, as he closed the distance between himself and Bucky.

“Mm, I’m thinking that’s more like all three of us.” Bucky leaned in for another kiss because kissing meant he wasn’t thinking.

Once again, there was nothing else but Steve’s lips, and Bucky welcomed the silence in his head. 

-~- 

Natasha checked the door to Shield to make certain it locked securely behind her. With the recent break-ins, the last thing she wanted was for Steve and Bucky’s first evening together to be interrupted by thieves entering the shop. As she walked back to the car, she entertained the idea of swinging by campus and picking up Clint. The thought of returning back to an empty townhouse was strangely unnerving to her. Over the past seven months, she’d gotten used to Bucky’s constant presence. Even with the amount of time he’d been spending at the shop, he was still there every evening.

But the thought of calling Clint, driving over to campus, picking him up, and potentially having to deal with whatever sort of mess he was in at this point felt exhausting. 

After all, she already was exhausted.

She hated to admit it. She’d always prided herself on her ability to handle anything thrown at her, but after the past several days of not sleeping and taking care of Bucky and spending nearly every waking moment focused on him, she selfishly just wanted to disengage from the world. 

At least that was the plan before she spotted a familiar figure walking down the street with a mangy dog at his side. 

If nothing else, there were no new bandages on Clint’s face and the bruises seemed to be in the healing process. She straightened her shoulders – her posture was verging on what she would categorize as ‘slumped’ – and fixed a smile on her face as she greeted him.

She knew instantly that her act didn’t work. Clint’s eyes scanned her face and he immediately looked concerned. “You look like hell, Nat,” he said, but his voice was gentle. She tried to curb the immediate flash of anger that followed his words. 

“What, no hello? No how are you? Just comments about my appearance?” she asked instead, because that meant she didn’t have to provide an answer to his concerns. 

“You know you’re beautiful. But you look… drained. What’s going on? Did something else happen with Barnes?” 

“Well, he might be about to get laid,” she said with a tired smile. She hoped that might distract Clint from his questions about her. When Clint failed to take the bait, she sighed. “It’s been a hard couple of days but you know that already. You saw how he was last night.” 

Clint reached for her hand. “Look, Nat, if you wanna be alone, I get it and I’m not gonna pressure you to say otherwise. But if you want some company, I’m offering my services as a chef and whatever else you need. You can kick back and relax, we can watch whatever movies you want, and I’ll handle everything else.” 

Natasha considered her options; she could head back to an empty townhouse and heat up some leftovers and probably just end up getting half-drunk on vodka by herself, or she could accept Clint’s offer and leave the food to him – despite her concerns about his cooking abilities or lack thereof – and not be responsible for dealing with anything. 

She accepted his offer by kissing his cheek. “Sounds good, Clint. My car’s just up the block.” 

-~-

Somehow – Steve wasn’t quite sure how, although it might have been his idea – he’d ended up on the couch in a tangle of limbs with Bucky. Tangled probably wasn’t the right word; there was some form of organization, but Steve found it hard to differentiate where his arms and legs ended and Bucky’s began. He was fairly certain that when he’d come up with the suggestion to move to the couch, he hadn’t meant to end up straddling Bucky; he’d only been thinking of the discomfort in Bucky’s neck from leaning down to kiss him. 

But now his hips were pressed against Bucky’s and that wasn’t distracting at all, to feel Bucky’s body responding to the pressure and contact, and to think of what all of this might lead to and that… that was enough to stop Steve in his tracks. 

Catching his breath was hard as he pulled away. He hoped against hope that he wasn’t on the verge of an asthma attack because that would just be utterly embarrassing. Then again, Bucky’s breathing was ragged, too. His eyes were bright and his face was flushed, and it took everything in Steve to ask the question on his mind instead of leaning in to kiss him again. 

“This… this isn’t going to be a one-night thing… I mean, um, if it goes that direction?” he asked a bit awkwardly.

Bucky’s head tilted in confusion. “Nah, Steve, of course not,” he assured him, although his face fell the slightest bit. “Unless that’s what you want…?” 

“No, not at all. Definitely not.” Steve leaned in again but avoided Bucky’s lips, which provoked a frustrated, needy whine from Bucky that was cut off in a gasp as Steve pressed a kiss to the side of his throat – and, damn, it was gratifying to be able to make Bucky respond that way. “So if it’s not a one-night thing, you wanna go out some time?” 

Bucky chuckled in response to that, although the sound choked off into a low moan when Steve lightly bit at the skin of his throat. “Shit, Steve, fuck,” he gasped. “’course I wanna go out with you.”

“Mm,” Steve murmured in response, flicking his tongue lightly against Bucky’s throat. “We should make plans for that, shouldn’t we?” 

“Fuckin’ Christ, Rogers, you’re a goddamn tease.” But Bucky smiled as he said it. Steve felt a surge of pride that he was able to coax this type of response from someone as beautiful as Bucky. “Fine, if we’re focusing on planning, you might wanna stop making me crazy.”

“Like this?” Steve gently raked his teeth against Bucky’s throat before sucking on the skin in a way he had no doubt would leave a mark – which in retrospect, might not have been the best decision given that Bucky was coming back to work the next day.

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck,” Bucky groaned. “Yes, like that. I can’t even think when you do things like.” 

“Let me help with that. Got any preference on a day?”

“Well, I figure since you’re in school and all, the weekend might be good.” Bucky had apparently determined that turnabout was fair play, given that he was in the process of unbuttoning Steve’s shirt with his right hand – and Steve realized for the first time that Bucky had yet to touch him with his metal arm - and tracing his fingers along Steve’s collarbone. 

Steve hummed a soft, content sound in response to the contact and settled on threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Friday then. Any idea where you’d like to go?” Admittedly, he’d wanted to give Bucky the option of deciding because Steve was fully aware of his difficulty going to new places. 

“Cliché and all but we could totally do dinner and a movie,” Bucky suggested. His fingers finished pushing back Steve’s shirt and his lips and teeth were kissing and biting a path along his collarbone, and Steve couldn’t think anymore. 

-~-

Natasha was halfway to the townhouse when her phone beeped at her, alerting her to a new text message. She hesitated for a moment – texting and driving was stupid but if the message was from Bucky, she didn’t want to wait – and then asked Clint, “You mind checking that?” 

“No prob,” he assured her and tracked the phone down in a matter of moments. “It’s Sam. Asking if you’ve got any plans tonight.” 

“You can tell him that I’m spending the night in with you.” She doubted that would make Sam particularly jealous. 

As Clint crafted the message, the amount of time he spent texting seemed to be taking longer than one would imagine given the message she’d asked him to relay. She tried to curb any suspicions; after all, this was Clint. For all she knew he wasn’t that great at texting or used to her phone.

A few moments later, the phone beeped again and Clint informed her, “He asked if three’s company or a crowd. He also offered to bring a bottle of vodka, bubble bath, and massage oil. You interested?” 

She chanced a glance over at Clint to gauge his reaction to the message and, if anything, he looked pleased. “As long as you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Sam also said he’d be willing to cook and I think we’ll both enjoy his cooking more than mine.” He paused before adding, “Plus he’s a good-looking guy. I can’t say no to that.” 

Not for the first time – or more likely the last – Natasha wondered how she found herself in these types of situations.

Not that she was complaining. After all, Clint was right.

Sam was a good-looking guy.

-~-

In the end, it was Bucky’s stomach growling that caused the distraction. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He hadn’t eaten in at least two days, but he also hadn’t exactly been currently thinking about food given that his full attention was on the blonde on top of him. 

Steve seemed a bit amused initially, and then more concerned as he apparently registered that this might be another sign of Bucky’s inability to properly take care of himself. “You want me to make you something or we could order in?”

“Ordering in works.” Bucky hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt. “Sorry. I haven’t exactly been eating much lately.”

Steve pulled back so that Bucky could scramble into a sitting position. He tried to get a handle on his thoughts before they started spiraling out of control and reminding him of how much of a fuck-up he was and how he ruined everything. Steve didn’t seem to be angry though, just concerned and perhaps a bit guilty. 

“In that case, the food’s your choice and my treat,” Steve said. 

Bucky tried to get his thoughts organized enough to respond and the first thing he thought of was the Chinese food Clint had ordered the previous night. “Chinese food sounds fucking amazing,” he said after a moment. “But if you’re paying now, I’m insisting on paying for the food this Friday. Deal?”

“Deal.” Steve got to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with the menu for the local Chinese place – Bucky was pleased to see that it was his favorite one – and offered, “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll call it in.” 

In the end, Bucky chose hot and sour soup and an order of General Tso’s Chicken and while they waited, Steve tossed on an episode of How I Met Your Mother for background. Bucky tried not to think too much about the fact that, as usual, he’d managed to ruin the moment. Still, Steve was curled up against his right side and Bucky’s arm fit perfectly around his shoulders. Even if it wasn’t the same as being half a step away from ripping Steve’s shirt off entirely, it was nice and comfortable and comforting. 

Once the food came, Bucky inhaled half of it before determining that he should probably pace himself to avoid getting sick. 

Steve seemed pleased that Bucky was eating and halfway through the meal asked, “You feeling better now?” 

Bucky nodded. “It’s nice to have an appetite again.” He hesitated for a moment. “Sometimes I’m not so good at taking care of myself. Eating can be a part of that.” 

Steve studied him. “Is it that you don’t have an appetite sometimes or does eating actually make you feel sick?”

“Sometimes I’m just not hungry, sometimes I forget to eat because I’m stuck in my own head, and sometimes, yeah, I get sick when I try to eat.” 

Steve reached over and squeezed his hand. Bucky realized he’d probably looked somewhat miserable and ashamed when he said those words. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve assured him. “You’re not the only one who sucks at taking care of themselves sometimes.” 

“I never would’ve guessed that,” Bucky said drily.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure Darcy hasn’t already told you everything.”

“She hasn’t, actually,” Bucky said. “Anything she should’ve told me that you’d want to share?” 

Steve looked thoughtful. “I dunno. You already have a brief rundown of my history. Anything else you want to know about?” 

“Anything? Everything? The basics? Your favorite food and color? Shit like that.” 

“Oh good, you’re asking the easy questions,” Steve said with a laugh. “My favorite food is apple cake and I like blue. Well, blues. Not the muddy ones, bolder ones.”

“Alright, how about movies? Books?” 

“I’m a big Hitchcock fan. I like history books. Some people think it’s boring but I like reading them. I’ve also been known to enjoy Neil Gaiman’s work, American Gods and Sandman, that type of thing.” He tilted his head, gauging Bucky’s response before asking, “What about you?” 

Bucky paused for a moment, not entirely sure of how to respond. “I used to like a lot of different things that I don’t anymore,” he finally said. “Recently most of the movies I’ve been watching have been ones meant for kids. Sometimes comedies, too. Anything with action or horror can be debatable though. With books, I’ll pretty much ready anything I can get my hands on. I wasn’t always a big reader, but that was literally all I could do when I was in the hospital, so it kinda spawned an addiction.”

Steve nodded. “Makes sense. I, uh, I like some of the animated films too. The art styles interest me.” 

A weight seemed to lift from Bucky’s shoulders. “Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad I won’t piss you off or sound childish if I ask to watch a Disney film.” 

“Nah, I totally get it. First of all, you’d have to do a lot more than that to piss me off but I don’t think it’s childish at all. I get it. You need to be careful and find ways to take care of yourself.”

“Thanks for saying that.” Bucky managed a smile, although he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I know… I know being around me can be kinda hard. There’s a lot of things…that I can’t do and I’ve always gotta be mindful of whether or not something could trigger me. Sometimes things trigger me that I wouldn’t have even expected.” 

“Hey, no worries,” Steve said softly. “Just tell me what kinds of things trigger you – the sights or sounds or smells – and I’ll be mindful of that.”

Even though Steve’s words should have been reassuring, Bucky couldn’t seem to stop himself from continuing to list all of the potential issues with him. “I probably should’ve talked to you about this before I sent Natasha off… I mean, since, um… I might be spending the night… if you’re okay with me spending the night and if you’re not I can walk home, no problem but…”

Steve cut him off at that point. “Bucky, breathe. It’s okay. Of course you can spend the night. I figured you would.” 

“Okay.” Bucky took a deep breath and then another before trying to speak again. “Well, if I’m going to be staying, you should know that sometimes… sometimes I have nightmares. Bad ones.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said quickly. “I mean, it’s not okay that you have nightmares but the fact that you have nightmares is okay. What helps calm you down when you have a nightmare? I’m guessing you and Natasha have a system by now, right?”

“Yeah. Usually she just says my name until I focus and then keeps telling me to breathe. Once I’m calmer, she might put her hand on my shoulder to ground me…but I’m also used to her and Sam being around when I have nightmares so I don’t know if it would work as well if you touched me… and I wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt you. I mean, I’m not usually violent but if I’m not grounded… I don’t always know what might happen.” 

Once again, Bucky was afraid to see Steve’s expression. He just stared miserably down at the plate of food; his appetite was already gone again. 

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “So… I could just talk to you and keep my distance? Would that work?” 

At that, Bucky did raise his head and saw Steve looking at him, earnest and unafraid. For a moment he felt tears prickling in the backs of his eyes and quickly looked down. “Yeah, that’d be just fine. I can, uh, take the couch tonight if that’s easier.” 

“No, fuck that, you’re the guest. You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

With a boldness Bucky hadn’t realized he still possessed, he suggested, “Or we could share the bed? I mean… if you’re okay with that.” 

Steve seemed surprised but pleasantly so. “Yeah? I’m fine with that. I’d, uh, offer you some spare clothes but I’m guessing one of my shirts would barely fit on one of your arms.” 

Bucky laughed. “That’s fine. I can sleep in my jeans or something.” He wondered if that meant he might be willing to take off his shirt and that, if so, how Steve would react to seeing his scars. 

Steve shrugged. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, Buck.” 

“It’s your bed,” Bucky pointed out. “Your bed, your boundaries, right?”

Steve smirked, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’ll be the one to set those boundaries. I’m not shy.” 

-~-

Natasha could not have asked for a better end to her day. 

Whatever Sam was cooking in the kitchen smelled delicious. He’d shown up with two bags full of groceries and taken full control of her kitchen as soon as he arrived, while refusing to tell her what exactly he was planning on making for them. He’d handed Natasha a brand new bottle of Grey Goose and told her to kick back and relax until the food was ready. 

She was on her second drink by that point, perhaps drinking a bit faster than she would normally, but with her tolerance she wasn’t going to start feeling anything until the end of the second or beginning of the third. Still, probably given that she hadn’t eaten anything in hours – or all day, come to think of it – she was already feeling her muscles relax and unwind.

Although that might have been due to the magic that Clint was working on her feet. True to his word, Sam had brought over a bottle of massage oil and Clint had volunteered to give her a foot massage while they waited for dinner. She’d accepted, naturally, and between the vodka and the sensation of his fingers working on her insoles, she found herself slipping into a comfortable, relaxed haze. 

She had no idea how much time had passed before Sam gently said her name and she felt fingers threading through her hair. She opened her eyes and stretched languidly. Although her muscles were relaxed, her body felt electrified and wired. It vaguely occurred to her that she seemed to have forgotten about food for the moment. 

Sam’s face was above hers and it seemed perfectly natural to lean up and press a long, lingering kiss to his lips. As she pulled back, she glanced over at Clint, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed unsurprised – but then it took a lot to shock Clint – and then he shifted his gaze to Sam and smirked. Sam just raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Natasha, almost as though he were looking for permission, and she nodded, not that he needed her approval for anything. 

Given that Natasha’s legs were still in Clint’s lap, Sam was the one to make the first move, closing the distance between them, but Clint was the one who hooked his fingers in Sam’s hair and crushed their lips together until both were panting and gasping. They turned to look at her, almost in unison, and she offered both a small, predatory smile and quirked her finger at them, encouraging them to come closer. 

With one placing a trail of kisses along her collarbone and the other’s lips on her own, Natasha had to admit that she loved her boys.

-~-

Steve was grateful for the few minutes alone as the brushed his teeth and prepared for bed. He still hadn’t quite processed the fact that Bucky was there, in his apartment, preparing to sleep with him – but not sleep with him like that, he didn’t think – for the night. He’d stuck with his normal nighttime attire of plaid pajama pants and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt, although he wondered if he should’ve been wearing something else or something different since this wasn’t a normal night. Not able to identify anything in particular he could change, he stared into the mirror and tried to tame his messy blonde hair into something resembling a normal hairstyle before stepping out.

And stopped in his tracks. 

Bucky stood a few feet away. He’d changed for bed as well, except unlike Steve who’d pretty much made certain he was covering every inch of his body that could be covered, Bucky wore only a pair of boxers. 

He looked terrified. 

Steve didn’t give himself the time to process the sight in front of him any further and instead just cautiously stepped forward. “Buck? Is everything okay?” 

A bit of the haunted look left Bucky’s eyes, though his shoulders still hunched as though he were preparing for a blow. He tried to offer what was presumably supposed to be a cocky smile but looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, Steve. Everything’s fine.” 

“Then why do you look like you’re expecting me to hit you?” Steve asked. He continued to close the distance between them. He reached up and rested his hand on Bucky’s bare chest – the right side, naturally, since he didn’t want to accidentally trigger Bucky by placing his hand too close to the scar tissue covering his left shoulder (or what was left of it). “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Bucky inhaled sharply when Steve touched him but he didn’t pull away. “I’m not afraid of you hitting me. That’s not the kind of hurt that worries me.” 

“I figured as much,” Steve said in an equally soft voice. “Are you worried about my reaction to the arm? Because, Buck, I’ve seen it already. You showed it to me on your first day. You’ve worn t-shirts at the shop. It’s not exactly a surprise.” 

“But you haven’t seen the scars,” Bucky finally admitted. 

Steve glanced at the network of scar tissue spanning the majority of Bucky’s shoulder, at least the part that wasn’t covered by the metal arm. 

Very carefully, he brushed his fingers along the metal, mindful to keep his distance from where the metal connected to the skin. The metal was sleek and smooth, fairly cool to the touch. “You’re right, I hadn’t. But they don’t bother me. I mean, it bothers me that you have them because that means you were hurt. But looking at them doesn’t bother me. I don’t see you any differently because you have them.”

“So you don’t see me as broken or damaged?” Bucky asked. The slight catch in his voice when he asked the question all but broke Steve’s heart. 

“Not at all. Promise.” He tilted his head up, all but going on to his tiptoes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky’s right arm curled around him to offer support. Then there were fingers threading through Steve’s hair, which was strange because Bucky never touched him with both arms and one arm was already around Steve’s waist. Then Steve registered that the metal of the fingers was cold against his scalp but he didn’t care because for the first time Bucky was touching him without hesitation.

Steve hadn’t meant for his fingers to slip from the metal arm as he attempted to maintain his balance. It wasn’t until the heat of Bucky’s skin and the cold of the metal pressed against his palm – not to mention the slight jerk of Bucky’s body as Steve’s hand made contact with the scar tissue – that he realized what he’d done. 

Steve held his breath for a moment, uncertain of how Bucky would respond and with an apology already on his lips. But then Bucky kissed him again and the worries faded from Steve’s mind as they fell into bed in a tangle of limbs.


	9. Take My Hand And Cradle It In Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky adjusts to his relationship with Steve, fights off his anxiety and cognitive distortions, and prepares for his weekend date.

The first thing Bucky registered when he woke up was that there was someone curled up against him who was around the same size as Natasha, but definitely not her. Instead of her perfume, he smelled cologne. Furthermore, based on the sensory information he was receiving, he wasn’t in his bedroom. 

He opened his eyes to find blonde hair a few inches from his face and the events of the night slowly came back. He’d spent the evening with Steve – and he was pretty sure he was dating Steve at this point – and somehow that didn’t trigger the automatic panic attack he’d half expected.

Steve was still nestled against Bucky, his head resting against Bucky’s chest, his breathing slow and even. Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, and then tightened his grip on him when Steve made a soft, content sound and curled himself closer. 

Bucky was fairly certain he hadn’t had any nightmares, given that his throat wasn’t raw and Steve was still there, comfortably resting beside him, not to mention he was reasonably certain that he would have remembered having a nightmare. Good. At least there was that. 

The nightmares would come soon enough, he had no doubt of that, but at least he’d had a peaceful first night with Steve. 

Of course, that peacefulness broke a few moments later when the alarm clock went off. Steve jerked initially, then just groaned and buried his face against Bucky’s chest. He flailed a hand towards the alarm clock and Bucky obligingly reached over to hit the snooze button. 

Steve seemed content to just remain curled up with Bucky for the next several minutes. Bucky was more than willing to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair as Steve greeted him with a sleepy, “Morning, Buck.” 

Bucky grinned. “Morning, Steve.”

He could definitely get used to this.

-~- 

Clint woke in a complete tangle of limbs. Natasha’s head was nestled in the crook of his neck, her breath warming the side of his throat, and Sam was pressed against Clint’s back, an arm thrown over both Clint and Natasha, securely keeping Clint in place. 

His body ached from the evening’s festivities, though both Natasha and Sam had been quite careful and mindful of his broken ribs, but he didn’t mind. This was a damn better reason for being sore than his usual ones, if nothing else.  
Despite the fact that Clint hadn’t moved a muscle and nothing else could have woken Natasha up, she seemed to have registered that Clint was already awake. She stretched like a cat and nuzzled at his chest.

“Morning, Clint,” she murmured. “Feeling any aftereffects from last night?”

“Like I got the shit kicked out of me but in a good way. Definitely not complaining.” He hesitated. “You think Sam’s gonna mind if I crawl out of bed to grab my phone?” 

“Sam’s been awake for fifteen minutes, so he’ll be fine with that,” Sam replied. 

“Sam also likes to talk in the third person,” Clint noted. He pressed a brief kiss to Natasha’s lips and then slid out from under Sam’s arm and started the task of trying to figure out exactly where he’d lost his pants the previous evening. 

He found Lucky before he found his pants. She greeted him with her empty food bowl in her mouth and he scratched her behind the ears before tracking down the bag of dog food Natasha had started keeping in her kitchen for occasions like this. Once Lucky was settled, he gave her a few minutes to eat before saying, “Luck, find my pants.” 

She wagged her tail and followed the trail of clothing articles spread out across the first floor. Naturally, she picked up Natasha’s bra and Sam’s t-shirt before Clint finally abandoned her assistance. He managed to find his pants on the living room floor, not far from the couch where the previous evening’s festivities had started. 

“You’re a pretty shitty bloodhound.”

Lucky just barked and went back to her food bowl.

As Clint expected, there were several messages left on his pager. He fought the urge to call from his personal cell phone. That would never do and he’d get hell for calling on an unsecured line. 

“Everything okay, Clint?” Natasha called from the top of the stairs.

He tucked his pager back into his pants pocket and dropped it back on the floor. 

“Everything’s fine except for the fact that I’m about to be late for class,” he replied. 

“Screw class, Barton. You’ve got me and Sam waiting for you in the shower. I’d recommend you join us before the water gets cold.” 

Now that was an opportunity he wasn’t about to waste. 

-~- 

Darcy unlocked the front door and flipped the sign from closed to open when the footsteps came down from Steve’s apartment. In the back of her mind, she registered that the footsteps sounded heavier than Steve’s usually did but she was on autopilot and just greeted, “Hey, boss.” 

It wasn’t until the voice responded with, “I’m flattered by the promotion, Darcy, but I don’t think Steve’s turning over that role and responsibility to me” that she realized who exactly she’d been talking to. 

As she spun around to face him, she was intending to ask him why exactly he’d been at Steve’s apartment that morning, but when she focused on him, the only thing she could see was the hickey on his neck. 

That gave her the answer to that question.

“Holy shit, Robocop!” she blurted out. “Did you and Steve hook up last night? Stupid question, obviously you did. Oh my God, I need to call Jane and let her know.”

By that point, her phone was already in her hands and she was crafting a message to Jane and waiting until she remembered that this was one of Jane’s early mornings.

“Morning to you too, Darcy,” Bucky said. “I think Steve would prefer that the entire world was not made aware of our relationship, at least until you ask him.” 

“So you are dating! That’s great! I was hoping this wasn’t just a one-night stand. Was this a one-night stand?” 

“Why are you asking about one-night stands?” Steve inquired as he bounded down the stairs and into the lobby. 

Darcy just grinned at him. She’d never seen him that energetic in the morning. 

“Oh, I don’t know, something about the hickey on Robocop’s throat and the fact that you look adorably in love, boss,” she said. 

Steve buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Just promise me you won’t tell everyone yet.”

Darcy innocently asked, “Is it telling everyone if I tell Jane? Because the text message was written and I already kinda hit send.”

Steve looked pained, Bucky looked amused, and Darcy couldn’t imagine a better start to her day.

-~-

For once, Jane’s mood at opening shift was less than positive. Pulling an all-nighter to stay on top the grading for the course she TA’ed and having an essay of her own to write wasn’t exactly her activity of choice after a morning spent opening the coffee shop followed by a full day of teaching, sitting in class, and pulling some hours in the lab and some time spent on dissertation writing. 

Going from a full day of that into a shift was the last thing she wanted to do, especially after only managing approximately an hour or so of sleep due to everything else. Not to mention that the closing shift had forgotten to load the dishwasher and left her with no cups or plates and required her to be significantly behind schedule.

As a result, her initial reaction to the knock on the door was to snap, “What?” and fix the person standing on the other side with the darkest glare she could manage. 

Of course, that person would have been the blonde-haired Norse god who’d replaced her coffee mug several days ago. That was just her luck.

For a moment, she considered just leaving him standing there. The shop wasn’t open yet, she still had five million things to do before opening, and she doubted he’d brought her a second replacement coffee mug. 

Still, that wasn’t appropriate customer service. 

With a sigh, she walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Good morning,” she said as politely as she could manage. “We’re still not open quite yet.” 

“I know,” he replied. “And I’m sorry for bothering you. I understand there is a lot to do before this place opens. However, I had wanted to offer you an invitation. I spoke with Steve and Darcy over the past few days and they had informed me that you might be interested in visiting the Air and Space Museum. I had additionally spoken with a colleague of my father’s who owns a high-powered telescope from NASA and he had offered to allow us to view a black hole on Saturday evening. He informed me that opportunities like this only appear every few months. I was hoping that you might want to join me.”

Jane had no idea how to respond for a moment before simply blurting out the words, “Are you asking me out?”

Thor’s smile was warm and genuine. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. So, how does that sound? Would you be interested in going out with me this weekend?”

“I would,” she said, quickly, as though he might disappear if she hesitated. “I work on Friday night though.” 

“How would Saturday be for you?” 

“Saturday would be perfect. I mean, I’m off this weekend. I don’t have work until the morning shift on Monday.”

“In that case, if it will not disrupt your schedule too much, I would like to propose a Saturday spent together. We could start with brunch, then visit the Air and Space Museum, and then I would like to take you out to dinner at whatever restaurant you’d like before visiting my father’s colleague to observe the stars. If that’s alright with you, of course.” 

Jane’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t help it. There was no way that she was being asked out on a full day date with a man she’d met on one or two occasions. 

“Of course, if you don’t have enough time to spare for a full day outing, I certainly understand,” Thor added before she had a chance to respond. “If you would prefer – and if it would be more convenient – we could meet for dinner and then spend some time stargazing. I certainly understand if your work schedule and school requirements do not allow for a full day off.” 

“I can take the day off,” she said quickly. “I… I’d be more than willing to go out with you on Saturday. For the whole day.” 

Thor’s face lit up in a smile and Jane still couldn’t quite understand how she was able to provoke such a response from him. 

“Wonderful. If you do not mind, Darcy provided me with your phone number, but I had not wanted to use it without having your permission first. If it is alright with you, I’ll call you on Friday evening to arrange for a time to pick you up on Saturday morning.” 

“That’s fine.” Jane mentally made a note to murder Darcy in the near future. “I’m usually up by 9. It comes with the territory of always having to be awake early, so let me know what time works for you and I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll confirm the time on Friday but I was thinking about an 11:30 brunch to start.” He glanced at his watch. “For now though, I’ll let you go, unless of course you would like any help setting up since I have caused a delay in your usual schedule.” 

Jane hesitated. She knew that having any outside help would be frowned upon by her boss, but Thor was willing to assist in setting up, not to mention that she was running behind schedule. Besides, accepting his offer would mean the added benefit of getting to spend more time with him.

“If you’ve got a few minutes before classes, I wouldn’t mind some help in unloading the dishwasher and straightening up the shop,” she admitted.

Thor merely smiled. “Where would you like me to start?” 

-~-

Bucky went through the day in a blur but for the first time he could remember, this was a welcome and healthy blur. He wasn’t dissociating or checking out because he couldn’t handle the world, he just couldn’t get the thoughts of his night with Steve out of his head. He focused well enough on the five or six clients Darcy funneled in his direction and in-between them, he found excuses for wandering into Steve’s office.

Suffice to say, he’d enjoyed Steve’s company. Once or twice, Darcy had distracted them by clearing her throat from the doorway – and he hoped not also snagging a picture on her cell phone – but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this content or happy.

He just wished that in the back of his mind, there weren’t a little voice reminding him not to get too comfortable or attached because the other shoe was just waiting to fall, so to speak.

Still, by the time the end of the day arrived and Bucky reluctantly said goodnight to Steve before heading back to the townhouse, he had to admit that there was a part of him that was ready to just curl up in his room and collapse. Despite his comfort around Steve and Steve’s assurances, Bucky was still reluctant for Steve to see him struggling in any way, shape, or form; at least not until there was more history there. Aside from the occasional bouts of paranoia, he rarely worried about Natasha giving up on him. After all, he’d known her for a long time. She’d already stayed by his side through so much. Steve, on the other hand, only knew the barest of details about Bucky’s mental issues in a mostly hypothetical context – his knowledge was that Bucky could have nightmares and flashbacks and was otherwise a human disaster - and only had experience with his physical limitations. 

Bucky just hoped that when Steve did get to see those issues, as would inevitably happen, that wouldn’t be enough to push him away entirely.

He found Natasha curled up on the couch, reading through one of her textbooks and taking notes. She readily abandoned that process – tossing the book onto the coffee table after marking her spot – and easily shifted into a standing position to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, James,” she murmured. He leaned against her and tried not to feel guilty for how much coming back to her felt like returning home. “Have a nice night?”

He managed a grin. “Yeah, you could say that. Followed by a goddamn long day but it was worth it to spend the night with Steve and come back to work in the morning.”

“Work was quiet, I hope,” she said. She studied his face carefully, and this time the emotion he was trying to suppress was frustration. She worried and he knew why she worried, but he found himself wishing she had more faith in him.

“Definitely quiet, I’ve got no complaints,” he assured her.

“Good. So… you officially in a relationship?” 

He was surprised upon hearing the question, although he’d thought about that very subject all day and contemplated how to discuss everything with Natasha. “I guess so? I think so? We have an official date on Friday.”

Natasha looked quite pleased by that news. “That’s wonderful, James. I’m happy for you. Steve is a good guy.” 

“Thanks, Nat. You know I never would have gotten this far without you?

“Hey, now, you know that’s not true,” she chided. “You’ve made considerable steps all on your own. I’ve just been here for support. You know all I care about is you being happy.” 

“I am happy.” The words surprised him, because even with the lingering doubts in the back of his head and his concerns and fears, he was happy, happier that he’d been in as long as he could remember. Happier than he’d been since he lost his arm and messed up his head and lost his entire previous life.

“I figured as much,” she said lightly, and guided him down to the couch. Curling himself against her side was familiar and comfortable and all of those lingering doubts about Steve and being in a relationship faded away as her fingers threaded through his hair. “I mean, there’s a definite improvement compared to the last few days. Which means you should start talking to me about where exactly the two of you are planning on going on Friday.”

“We hadn’t exactly talked specifics, just discussed dinner and a movie,” Bucky said.

“Classic. I like your style. Fancy dinner or diner dinner?” 

“Probably diner,” Bucky said after a moment’s reflection. “Let’s keep it casual.” 

“Already got an outfit picked out?” Natasha asked innocently. His eyes probably reflected the surge of panic inside of him, given that Natasha started laughing. “No worries, James. I’ll help you out with that on Friday.” She ruffled his hair. “Since you’ve made such significant steps over the past 24 hours, it’s your turn to pick dinner.” 

Bucky considered his options. “Ordering in pizza sounds good. I don’t think I have the energy to go out tonight and the last thing I need to do is set myself back.” 

“Pizza is it,” Natasha said.

Bucky leaned back against the couch and tried every skill he knew to stay in the present moment and mindful. He didn’t want to lose these feelings. 

There was a part of him that was still aware – or afraid might have been the better word – that all of this could be temporary.


	10. Might Not Be The Face You'd Expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally reach Friday night and Steve and Bucky's first date.
> 
> Unfortunately, things really do not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple warnings for this chapter including somewhat graphic depictions of violence, flashbacks, hospitals, emetophobia, and asthma attacks. 
> 
> I think that covered everything....

Finally, it was Friday. 

Steve wasn’t certain how he even made it to the end of the week. At work, Bucky was a constant distraction – if Steve wasn’t sneaking a few moments alone with him, they were going out to coffee or lunch, and if they weren’t physically together, Steve still couldn’t get his mind off of the thoughts of times they were together – and those thoughts continued when Bucky went home for the night.

He’d found Bucky in his office at the end of the day, sterilizing his equipment, checking off the appointments on his calendar to maintain order and organization, and straightening his desk. Bucky had pressed a kiss to his lips and promised that he would be back by 6, in order to give them enough time to stop for dinner and Bucky’s favorite dinner before the 7:30 movie showing. There had been several more kisses before Bucky finally, reluctantly left to get ready for the evening. 

Steve resigned himself for cleaning up the rest of the shop and getting ready for the date that evening. Darcy had offered to stay with Steve to help him pick out an outfit but he’d declined. He wasn’t exactly willing to test out the clothing Darcy might recommend.

The evening routine came to him easily. He checked all of the locks and turned off the lights for the lobby and offices. Darcy had already counted and recounted the money for the day and added that to the log, which meant that Steve transferred the money into the safe. Darcy had additionally been kind enough to bag all of the non-hazardous materials for the trash, which Steve had offered to drop off in the dumpster before locking up and preparing to meet Bucky.

He didn’t realize that would be a mistake at the time.

He wasn’t paying attention, that much he had to admit. He was mentally reviewing his wardrobe in his head, trying to figure out if he should change into something else and if his current outfit wasn’t nice enough for a date, and quickly determining that sticking to his usual, comfortable attire would probably be somewhat for the best. The last thing he needed was to attempt to dress up and then end up over dressed, especially when he was supposed to be meeting Bucky soon.

One moment, he was throwing the trash bag into the dumpster – paying attention to bend his knees and offer the necessary support to his spine because the last thing he needed to do was throw out his back right before the date – the next he was on his knees, and his pants were ripped and the skin of his knees were shredded, and he couldn’t think through the pain in his head. 

He couldn’t understand why he was on the ground. Every self-preservation instinct he had kicked. He had no doubt there was another blow coming and he tried to anticipate and roll out of the way.

Steve ended up in a crouch. The world blurred. All he could see was the pavement in front of him. Then his assailant stepped forward. He caught sight of a pair of jeans and sneakers, nothing that was distinguishing or would cue him into who might have gone after him. He couldn’t remember any recent enemies that he’d made or think of anyone who would have done this to him but that didn’t matter. He had to prepare himself. He had to defend himself. 

The person knelt down and as he did, his jeans rode up, revealing enough skin for Steve to see the tattoo on his ankle.

A skull with crossbones.

He barely registered the flash of movement before the next blow caught him in the jaw and his vision went out completely.

-~-

“Shit, Bucky, you drinking already?” Sam threw himself into the chair across from where Bucky had settled down on the couch. “I thought you had a big night tonight.” 

“Yeah, ‘s why I’m drinking one beer,” Bucky responded. “Figured it would help me relax.” 

“We’ve discussed healthy and unhealthy coping strategies. Help me out here, Barnes, which one is alcohol?”

“It’s unhealthy,” Bucky said grudgingly. “But I’m not getting drunk. I just wanted one drink to unwind before heading out. If I were planning on getting drunk, I would’ve already broken out the vodka.” 

“…Point taken. Still, make sure to moderate your intake. You’re looking sharp, man, I wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of your evening.” 

Bucky automatically smoothed out his button-down shirt in response to Sam’s gaze. “You don’t think it’s too much?” He thanked whatever forces were out there that it was Sam sitting in front of him instead of Clint. The one thing he would never do was ask Clint for fashion advice. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to know what he was talking about more often than not.

“Nah, not at all. I can see you’re wearing a t-shirt underneath of that button-down,” Sam said with a grin. “That makes it more casual. Besides, you’re not wearing a tie or tux or anything Nothing wrong with a nice button-down and jeans for a casual, laid-back date. It’s classy enough without being overdone.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Sam nodded. “No worries, Barnes. Besides, you don’t need to impress Steve. He’s already completely smitten with you from what I’ve heard through the grapevine.” 

Bucky all but choked on his next sip of beer and nearly ruined his outfit for the evening in the process. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” 

Sam shrugged. “Look, the guy’s got feelings for you. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Which you know because…?” 

“Because I’ve talked to Natasha, obviously. You don’t need to worry, Bucky. Everything’s going to go just fine.” 

Bucky drained his beer in another several gulps and hoped against hope that Sam was right about that. Getting to his feet, he offered Sam the cockiest grin he could manage and said, “Wish me luck.”

“Trust me when I say that you don’t need it. But good luck. Have fun tonight.” 

Bucky took a deep breath, checking and rechecking that his keys, wallet, and phone were in his pocket, and then headed outside. 

At least the fifteen minute walk to Shield would give him the time to clear his head and calm down.

Or at least that was what he hoped. Knowing his luck, he’d have a panic attack halfway there and the rest of his date would be a disaster.

-~-

There was a sharp snap, like a twig being broken.

That couldn’t have been what woke Steve up, even if that was the first thing his mind registered. Before he even had the chance to process those thoughts, the pain hit, white hot and blinding, and he heard a strangled scream, which may or may not have been his own.

He struck out with his right hand; all of the pain was in his left. The blow was immediately deflected. The pressure on his left hand increased. Steve tried to throw another punch, but his movements were too slow, uncoordinated and jerky. He’d hardly even raised his right hand, before there was another snapping sound and the pain in his hand – his fingers – made the rest of the world fade away. 

He couldn’t understand how pain in such a small area as his fingers could be enough to drain the strength from the rest of his muscles, but the fact remained that trying to lash out once more was a pointless process. He could barely raise his arm and he had no doubt the blow wouldn’t connect. 

But he would damned if he was going to let something this go by without questioning what had led his assailant to attack him. “What the hell are you doing?”

He should have looked at the guy’s face to be able to identify him.

He should have screamed. He should have done a lot of different things. 

But when his third finger was broken, he stopped trying to think. Everything was already too hazy, too confused and disorganized, and rational thought wasn’t about to get him anywhere.

Instead, Steve fought back with everything he could. There was another snap as his fourth finger broke. He forced himself to ignore the pain and lashed out with his foot. His sneaker connected with something and his assailant grunted in pain. Before Steve could congratulate himself too much for that, another blow caught him in the face, this time cracking against his cheekbone. 

He kicked again, this time in desperation, and bared his teeth, prepared to bite if necessary because damn it if he wasn’t going down with a fight. Before he could try to even the odds, there were fingers in his hair – not like Bucky’s fingers, soft and comforting, these were harsh – and the back of his head, already sore and bruised, connected with the ground.

That was when his muscles stopped working. The pain in his hand – another snap, another finger – came again and he couldn’t even think straight or identify any ways of defending himself. 

It didn’t matter anyway. The pain was far away.

His other hand now. Another snap. Then another.

He should fight. He needed to fight.

He never gave up. Giving up wasn’t in his vocabulary. 

The next burst of pain led to his breath catching in his throat and that was what pushed him over the edge.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

He was gone.

-~-

Clint reviewed the orders from his last cell phone conversation in his head as he walked down the street. He was supposed to check out the stores, make a note of all security systems, and report back by 7:00 PM at the latest, which was necessary for his social life anyways, since he had plans to meet up with Natasha and Sam that evening.

Checking the alley was automatic for him and something he’d done more than once over the past several days. Steve hadn’t always been the greatest with locking up that side door. Clint needed to know if that might be a potential entryway into that building. He couldn’t understand why Stark, with his billions of dollars, hadn’t bothered to set up a cameras or an actual security system.

Those were the thoughts running through his head when he heard a low groan. His gaze fell on the crumpled, bloody blonde haired figure on the ground. “Steve,” he murmured automatically, horrified by the sight in front of him. Steve’s breathing was ragged, uneven, and Clint immediately dropped to his knees beside him. 

“Holy shit, Steve.” He carefully put a hand on Steve’s shoulder to keep him from trying to move as he tried to identify the areas of Steve’s body that were most damaged. “Steve? Can you hear me?” 

Steve jerked back defensively from the touch. Clint prepared to lightly block any blows that came his way. That turned out to be unnecessary. 

Clint hadn’t even glanced at Steve’s hands yet but given that when Steve went to curl his hands into fists, he screamed, that was immediately where Clint’s attention went. 

What he saw made him sick. Each and every one of Steve’s fingers were bent and twisted and swollen. 

Steve choked back a sob of pain as he tried to cradle his hands against his chest. Clint rubbed his shoulder and murmured, “Hey, how about you don’t try that again, Steve? It’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you. What the hell happened?” 

Clint didn’t have the chance to wait for an answer to that question. A second later, a hand closed around his shoulder; he found himself yanked to his feet and all but flung away from Steve, roughly enough that he barely managed to maintain his footing and not faceplant.

He registered the metal arm – and was so very glad that view didn’t coincide with a metal fist coming at his head - before he caught sight of Bucky’s face and, Jesus Christ, he had never seen Barnes look quite that terrifying.

“Clint, the only reason you’re not dead right now is because I can’t imagine you’d do something like this to him,” Bucky said in a low growl. “What happened?” 

“No idea, man.” Clint kept his hands raised defensively just in case Bucky’s current lack of assaultive behaviors didn’t continue. “I found him like this.” 

“Some guy jumped me,” Steve’s weak voice spoke up. 

Bucky turned back, no longer blocking Clint’s view of Steve, and Clint found that Steve had managed to prop himself up on his elbows. 

Thankfully that was enough to take Bucky’s complete attention off of Clint. He immediately knelt down beside Steve and let Steve lean back against him, despite the fact that Steve apparently had no intentions of being supported given that he stubbornly remained upright on his own accord. 

Clint exhaled slowly, grateful that he hadn’t had his face broken and that Bucky looked significantly less homicidal for the moment.

“Hey, take it easy, Steve,” Bucky murmured.

Steve wasn’t paying attention to Bucky at all, given that he frowned and said, “Shit… where’s my bag? Check my bag… my… my wallet and keys were in there.” 

“I’m on it,” Clint said. He quickly found the bag about a foot away from where he’d found Steve lying on the ground. A quick review showed that everything was in there – the keys, wallet, and additionally his phone, glasses, and inhaler – and he informed Steve as much.

“Good,” Bucky tersely said. “Then let’s get him to the hospital.”

Steve frowned again and Clint braced himself for an argument. Of course, Steve wouldn’t willingly go to the hospital even with mangled hands and a broken face. 

Surprisingly, all Steve said was, “Wait, we need to check the shop. I hadn’t locked the back door yet.” 

“I can do that,” Clint said quickly, hopefully not too quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was explain why he was hoping to get an up close and personal look at the security systems – or lack thereof – in Shield. “Barnes, just stay here with Steve. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. 

-~-

Holding himself together was hard.

Not the usual hard where Bucky worried about things like panic attacks or heightened sensory awareness or flashbacks. This was hard in a different way and it scared him. 

His hands shook as he lightly smoothed back Steve’s hair. Something warm and wet touched his skin, and pulled his hand back to find that blood coated his fingers. As gently as he could, he pressed his fingers against the back of Steve’s head until he could find the still sluggishly bleeding wound and ascertain that it probably wouldn’t need stitches.

Because focusing on that was better than focusing on the things he would do if he ever found the person who’d done this to Steve. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and Bucky immediately frowned at the sheer misery in Steve’s voice. “I guess I kinda wrecked tonight.” 

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Bucky said softly. “It’s not your fault. It’s the fucker who did this to you’s fault, not yours.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve murmured. 

Bucky held him more securely and wondered what the fuck was taking Clint so long because the more Bucky examined Steve’s injuries, the more he wanted to get him to the hospital. Steve’s fingers looked atrocious – and the fact that someone had taken the time to snap each and every one infuriated and terrified Bucky because that spoke to premeditation and a level of vindictiveness Bucky couldn’t even comprehend – and Steve’s eyes were alarmingly unfocused in a way that suggested there was likely a significant head injury.

Bucky was on the verge of just picking Steve up and carrying him into Shield to see if he could track down Clint – and the only thing that prevented him from doing that was the fear that Steve’s assailant might have been in there waiting for them – when Clint stepped back out into the alley.

“All clear,” he said as he locked the door behind him.

“Nothing’s missing?” Steve asked. His words came out somewhat slurred and Bucky’s worry increased substantially. 

“Nothing I could see,” Clint said. 

“In that case, we need to get Steve to the hospital,” Bucky said. “Any chance you’ve got a car nearby, Clint?” 

“Yeah, about a block away. If you’ve got Steve, I can bring it closer,” Clint offered, and Bucky nodded his agreement. 

Steve contributed to the conversation by stubbornly, infuriatingly asking, “Bucky, could you help me up? I can’t exactly hold onto anything…” as if Bucky was actually prepared to let Steve try to stand on his own given the state he was in.

Bucky didn’t even respond to that. Instead, he just made certain Steve was able to remain upright for a moment or two as he got to his feet and then scooped Steve into his arms. 

Steve grumbled, “I can walk,” but within a moment his head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder, and he made no attempts to get out of Bucky’s arms.

Still, despite Steve’s lack of arguing, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from pointing out, “You got hit in the head, Steve. You’re not walking anywhere until the doctors check you out.” 

“Yeah, exactly. I got hit in the head, not in the legs,” Steve retorted.

Bucky almost smiled. At least Steve sounded like himself, which had to mean his injuries weren’t that bad and he’d be alright.

At least that was what Bucky kept telling himself. The alternative wasn’t something he could consider and still maintain his moderate level of self-control.

Getting Steve into the backseat of Clint’s car took a bit of work. Steve seemed to be incapable of not attempting to help and kept forgetting that he couldn’t help with his broken fingers, which led to several barely stifled cries of pain from Steve and each one made Bucky that much more certain he might be in danger of committing a homicide if he ever found out who’d done this to Steve. With Clint’s assistance, Bucky finally got Steve settled and kept a close eye on him as Clint pulled away from the curb.

Steve’s expression was tightly controlled as he asked, “How bad do my hands look?”

Bucky’s stomach clenched as he remembered asking a similar question when he first woke up and didn’t know yet how extensive the damage had been to his arm. 

“It looks like something that can be fixed,” he told Steve gently and tried not to think too hard about how he’d been told something similar and how that was not the truth at all.

“Good.” Steve leaned his bead back against the seat and closed his eyes. “So… not permanent, right?” 

“It won’t be.” Bucky hoped he wasn’t lying. To distract himself as much as Steve, he reached over to smooth Steve’s hair back.

It had better not be. 

-~-

For as many nights as Clint had spent in this particular emergency room – as well as plenty of others throughout DC – the white walls and smell of antiseptic still left him on edge and uncomfortable. 

But that was nothing compared to how uncomfortable Bucky looked. He hadn’t spoken since he’d strode into the emergency room and snarled at the nearest nurses and techs and ordered them to fix Steve. Despite his words, it had taken Clint’s assistance to actually extricate Steve from Bucky’s arms, since Bucky seemed to be thoroughly disinclined to let go of him. 

Now, without Steve there, Bucky looked lost. Clint had been around him enough and knew enough about him to question whether or not he might also be checking out mentally, given that his eyes were unfocused and his gaze was distant. 

Great. The last thing he needed was to try to take care of a traumatized veteran when he had no idea what that might entail. He wasn’t Natasha or Sam. The thought reminded him that he should probably let them know where he was so that they didn’t worry. Also, letting them know about what happened with Steve might be a good thing. Natasha would want to know and she’d want to know about Bucky too.

Sending a text was probably a good start. _Hey, Nat. Me and Barnes are at the hospital. Long story. Don’t worry though, we’re okay. Steve got jumped._

The response came a few moments later. _You suck at not making me worry, Barton. Which hospital? We’re on our way._

_Don’t text and drive. Give Sam your phone if you need to. We’re at G.W. I know Georgetown’s better but I figured we should go to the closest one._

_Be there in 10 minutes. Keep James calm until we get there._

Awesome. Barnes was officially his problem for the time being. 

He cleared his throat, and hoped that would be enough of a warning sign that he wouldn’t have his lights punched out when he reached over to rest a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tensed but didn’t react with violence. That was a step in the right direction. 

“How’re you holding up?” Clint asked, when it was evident that Bucky wasn’t going to speak first.

“I’m not a danger to myself or others right now,” Bucky said hollowly, as though he were reciting a memorized statement. “You don’t need to check up on me, Clint. I wasn’t the one who was attacked.” 

“Yeah, but the person who was attacked is someone you care about. That would be upsetting to anyone.” 

“You mean anyone who’s not already a fucking trainwreck of a human being like me?” 

“I mean anyone.” Clint didn’t bother to clarify that, yes, that had been the gist of his thought process. “Especially someone who doesn’t exactly have a good history with hospitals. Although I guess most people don’t have good histories with hospitals, it’s not like you come here for fun and…”

He trailed off as he realized that he was rambling. “Natasha’s on her way. Is there anything I can get you until then?” 

Bucky shook his head and drew his knees to his chest. Something in that movement – Clint couldn’t figure out what – must have triggered him though, because barely a second later, Bucky was on his feet and running.

Clint followed after him, calling out his name as though that might actually succeed in making Bucky stop. What would Natasha say if Clint managed to lose him? What would he say to explain how he lost him? Sorry, Nat, your ex-boyfriend lost his shit and ran off into the streets of DC? That wouldn’t go over well.

That was unnecessary worrying given that Bucky ducked into the men’s restroom. Clint hesitated before following after. He paused midstep in response to the sound of retching from inside. 

“Bucky?” he asked hesitantly. “Shit. Uh… what do you need?” 

His answer came in the form of more choking and gasping.

Wonderful. This was totally how Clint had planned to spend his evening. 

“Alright, just cough it up,” he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone.

As he spoke, he tugged his cell phone out of his pocket and sent another text to Natasha.

_I hope you’re almost here. Barnes isn’t exactly in the best of shape. What do you usually do when he starts puking? I think he's also having a panic attack._

He hoped he’d get a response sooner rather than later.

-~- 

The lights were too bright. The constant movement from room to room, mixed in with the clicking and chirping of machines as his vitals were taken and his body was x-rayed, left Steve exhausted. The increasing pressure in his chest did nothing to ease his anxiety and worry. The doctors and nurses had frowned in response to seeing the numbers on his respiration per minute and blood oxygen level, not to mention his lung sounds, but he’d been holding out thus far.

At least until they put him into the CT scan. Until that point, he’d been sitting up or standing and his lungs had accepted the position of his body without protest. But suddenly, stretched out on his back, he found that his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps and he could feel his throat closing up.

He had no doubt that coughing might help - at least to increase the airflow, if nothing else – but that would mean moving and moving would mean going through this all over again. Even if CT scans took a fraction of the time an MRI would take, Steve wasn’t about to put himself through this again. Another CT scan would mean waiting even longer to get released. He wasn’t about to spend the night in the hospital if he had anything to say about it.

Focused on his breathing, he wasn’t even aware of the fact that this particular test had ended until a hand closed on his arm. He registered a voice gently saying, “Mr. Rogers? Mr. Rogers, can you hear me?” 

It wasn’t until he tried to form words that he realized his breathing had gotten worse, as though there was a rock pressing down on his chest, and his attempt to insist that he was fine was cut short in a panicked, agonized, frightened gasp.

He tried to point at his bag and finally managed to choke out the word, “Inhaler.” 

It was enough for the nurse to sift through his bag and hand him the inhaler inside. Running on instinct, he went to take the inhaler from her but then remember that his fingers weren’t working and he wasn’t supposed to move them. He almost panicked before the nurse encouraged him to calm down and then placed the mouth of the inhaler against his lips. Steve breathed in as well as he could and exhaled, holding his breath as she pressed the button for him, and then attempting to suck as much of the medication as possible into his lungs.

A second dosage and his breathing became a bit more even and steady, although the sudden rush of oxygen left him with black dots floating in front of his vision. He tried not to panic over the thought of passing out because that would just be humiliating.

“Mr. Rogers?” the nurse said gently. “You’ll be alright. We’re going to bring you to an examination room while the doctors review your x-rays and scans and we’ll get you set up with a nebulizer treatment, alright?” 

Steve fought back the wholly irrational urge to cry. He was fully aware that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead, he forced a smile and thanked the nurse and tried not to think about whether or not Bucky was still waiting for him. On the one hand, Steve hoped he was because he really didn’t want to spend the rest of this evening alone in the hospital. On the other hand, the last thing he wanted was for Bucky to see him like this. 

Still, before he could convince himself otherwise, he managed to gasp out, “Could… could you see if my friend’s still here? His name’s Bucky. Well, James. James Barnes.”

The nurse offered him a smile. “Of course, Mr. Rogers. Just get some rest.” 

Steve curled up on the stretcher, mindful of his injured fingers, and tried to empty his mind and not focus on anything he was wheeled out to a room.

-~-

Based on the string of texts from Clint, Natasha flung the car into park in front of the ER doors and left Sam with the keys. She ignored the attempts of the receptionist to get her attention and instead went straight to the nearest bathroom, not even hesitating before walking inside the men’s room. 

She found Clint leaning against the wall, looking worried and uneasy, and he immediately said, “Jesus Christ, Nat, I’m so glad you’re here.” 

Not immediately seeing Bucky, she asked, “Where’s James?” 

Clint nodded to the stall at the end.

“He’s been in there since I sent that last text,” Clint said, as she walked down the row. “He was talking to me for awhile but then, maybe five minutes ago, he went silent and I… I thought about grabbing someone for help but I figured that might not be the best option.” 

“You thought right,” Natasha said. “You mind stepping outside and keeping watch for me in case anyone else tries to come in here?” 

She waited until Clint stepped outside before she wrapped her knuckles against the door, hoping against hope that Bucky was still conscious and at least relatively functional, preferably functional enough to open the door. “James? James, can you hear me?” 

Instead of an answer, there was a click as the door unlocked. She stepped inside. Bucky’s back was pressed against the wall and he looked like hell, there was no other word for it. His skin was pale, and sweat and tears intermingled on his face. 

“Hey,” she said softly, ignoring all of that for the moment. “How’re you holding up?” 

“I’m fine,” he said. She could tell the words were automatic, his usual response to situations where he was far from being alright. 

Still, she didn’t push. Instead she crouched down in front of him and murmured, “He’ll be alright, James.”

Bucky choked out a brittle laugh. “Yeah, I know. Wasn’t that. I, uh, I still had his blood on my hands. Didn’t realize. Caught sight of it. Forgot where I was. Thought I was back watching one of the men under my command bleeding out in my arms. Couldn't ground myself through the smell of burning flesh. Still not quite sure I'm fully back.”

“Shit, James,” she breathed. “What do you need right now?” 

“Nothing. I’m… stable. Exhausted, not that it matters. Pretty sure I'm out of the flashback for the moment. Mostly I’m feeling stupid and guilty for making this about me when Steve’s the one who’s hurt.”

“It wasn’t like you could control this.” She reached for his hand, frowning at the coldness of his skin, and hoped against hope that he wouldn’t end up beating himself up even more than he already clearly was.

The door to the bathroom opened and Clint’s voice distracted Bucky from whatever response he would have had for that statement. “Uh, Barnes? They’re ready for you to come back. Steve’s looking for you.” 

Bucky’s entire expression shifted; his gaze shut down, somewhere between dissociated and neutral, and his shoulders straightened before he carefully got to his feet. She watched him intently, fully prepared to steady him if his knees buckled, but although he looked unsteady, he managed to remain upright and step out of the bathroom stall. 

“Tell them I’m on my way,” he informed Clint as he walked over to the sink to splash water on his face. 

Natasha fought back the urge to stop him and get him to talk to her more rather than hiding his emotions and bottling everything up inside. She had no doubt further talking would only leave him raw and all the more unstable and he clearly wasn’t willing to put himself into that state at this point.

He’d talk to her when he was ready.

After all, he always had in the past.


	11. Help Me Stay Awake I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky takes care of Steve and forgets to take care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned within the next few days for an interlude featuring Jane and Thor's first date and an upcoming chapter featuring the Maximoff twins!

He wasn’t in his bed.

That was the first thing Steve realized when he woke up. The covers felt wrong against his skin and there was the faint smell of peppermint in the air. 

The second thing was the pain. His head was the worst, like an axe had been imbedded in his skull. Still, the dull, throbbing ache in his fingers concerned him more. He cracked his eyes open, grateful that there were no lights on because he had no doubt that would have made his headache even worse. However, he was simultaneously left uneasy by the darkened room, given that he still had no idea where he was.

He tried to move and registered for the first time that there was an arm around him. There was a rustle of blankets, and then a voice murmured, “Steve? You awake?” 

The pieces fell into place. He was in Bucky’s room, at Natasha’s townhouse. They’d brought him back there after the hospital discharged him. His fingers were broken – and, god, did he remember the pain of them being reset – and the doctor had said he had a concussion, with the words “hairline skull fracture” also being included in that. 

He remembered being given the time frame of 6-8 weeks for healing. He recalled needing a nebulizer treatment because the stress of everything made his asthma flare up, and Bucky coming into his room while he was still shaking from the aftereffects.

He remembered giving his statement to Detective Coulson and describing his assailant’s tattoo because that was the only actual piece of evidence he had to go on. 

And he remembered the terrifying look in Bucky’s eyes that made Steve hope his attacker was never found because he wasn’t certain what Bucky would do.

“Steve?” Bucky gently repeated, and Steve realized he’d never responded. 

“Yeah. Sorry, Buck. I’m awake.”

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asked, and his voice was gentle and worried. Steve felt a surge of completely irrational frustration and guilt in response to that. 

“I’m alright,” he murmured. “Sorry you’re stuck taking care of me.”

“Don’t be. You hungry at all?”

“I think the medication killed whatever appetite I had left.” Steve resisted the urge to add that his lack of appetite might also have something to do with the concussion. Bucky was already worried about him enough.

“Let me know if that changes.” Bucky carefully curled his body around Steve and hooked his arm more securely around him. “Speaking of meds, you need anymore painkillers?”

Steve hesitated. The ache in his hands and stabs of pain in his head were uncomfortable, verging on agonizing, but he had no doubt he’d fall asleep again within moments of taking another pill or two. 

“Steve? If you’re hurting, you should take something.” 

“Alright,” he said reluctantly. “I guess I’m due for another dose.”

Bucky disentangled himself from him. “You gonna be alright if I turn on a light?” 

Steve fought the urge to nod in response; for one because Bucky wouldn’t be able to see the gesture, and for another because he had no doubt his head would not respond well to the movement.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he murmured. 

It wasn’t fine. The light, despite the fact that it was low, was enough to shift his headache from uncomfortable to blinding. 

He clenched his eyes shut automatically and barely stifled a groan. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the glow on the back of his eyelids. He all but breathed a sigh of relief when there was a click and the light turned off again. 

Bucky’s voice was gentle as he asked, “Can you raise your head a little bit, Steve? I don’t want you to choke on the pill.” 

With Bucky’s assistance, Steve managed to raise his head enough to swallow the pills, keeping his eyes shut the entire time. He tried to focus on his breathing, waiting for the medication to start taking effect, and was dimly aware of Bucky getting out of bed and disappearing into the hallway. He considered asking him where he was going but by the time the thought was fully processed in his mind, Bucky was already gone.

He wasn’t certain if he simply lost track of time or had actually passed out but one moment he was just trying to curb the feelings of dizziness and nausea, the next there was a cool, damp washcloth on his forehead and fingers threading through his hair. 

“Bucky?” he asked blearily.

Bucky gently shushed him. “It’s a trick Natasha figured out. The combination of painkillers, a damp washcloth, and her fingers in my hair is usually enough to make me feel better when the headaches get bad. Figured it might work for you.”

Steve had to agree that the combination was quite effective. Within minutes, his pain had faded to almost nothing. Maybe the painkillers had just stopped him from caring about the pain. Maybe having Bucky curled protectively around him distracted him from the pain.

Either way, within a matter of minutes he’d gone from contending with agonizing levels of pain and fighting back the urge to vomit to feeling comfortably numb and relaxed. 

“It’s gonna be four to eight weeks before my fingers are healed.” He was caught with the sudden need to convey that prognosis and his concerns associated with his inability to work. 

Bucky shushed him once again. “It’ll be okay, Steve. We’ll figure it out.”

“But I won’t be able to work.”

“Like I said, we’ll figure it out,” Bucky repeated. “I can take on more clients. We can find a temporary replacement. It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure it’s okay.” 

Steve was numb enough that the slight twinge in his stomach that came along with the suggestion that he might need to be replaced barely lasted a moment or two.

As much as he didn’t want to lose the business for Shield, he didn’t like the thought of how easily he could be replaced.

-~-

When Bucky reflected on the past three days, they were nothing but a consistent blur. Steve had been more functional that first morning after the attack and actually eaten a few bites of food for breakfast without getting sick. He’d still been groggy and unsteady on his feet though and Bucky had kept a close eye on him and was grateful when Natasha offered them a ride to Shield.

Darcy had already arrived and was in the process of setting up for the morning, which meant she dropped the book of tattoo designs she was holding – and Bucky was just grateful that she hadn’t been holding something breakable or valuable or both - and looked horrified when she saw the condition that Steve was in. 

“Oh my God, Steve. Not again.” 

“I didn’t start the fight this time,” Steve said quietly, angrily. Bucky had never heard Steve sound that way before. “Someone jumped me. So, as you can see, I’m gonna need to call and cancel all of my appointments.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Yeah, some fucker attacked him in the alley.” He had a feeling that the continued urge to murder the person who did that was fully evident in his eyes, given that Darcy all but took a step back. He exhaled slowly and gently ruffled Steve’s hair to calm himself. “Look, Steve, if you wanna go upstairs, get cleaned up and rest or something, me and Darcy can handle cancelling your appointments.”

Steve had hesitated initially. “Thanks for the offer, but I should be the one to do that.” 

Darcy’s immediate reaction had been, “We’ve got you covered, boss. Go upstairs. Get something to eat. Take a shower. We can handle it.”

The next few hours had been spent making the phone calls, cancelling Steve’s appointments, asking Natasha if she knew anyone with credentials who might be able to sub for Steve, agreeing to take on more clients himself to decrease the amount of money lost while Steve was recovering, and helping Steve send emails to his professors to let them know the situation. Steve had been stubborn and insisted on typing himself by using a pencil, which took forever, but Bucky was willing to be patient since he could see Steve’s frustration over not being able to do most things.

He’d stayed with Steve every night since the attack, opening up the medication bottles when Steve woke up and wanted another dose since the child-proof caps were too difficult for Steve to open without the use of his hands. Keeping track of the doses, Bucky could see that they were decreasing more and more by the day, until Steve was only taking a dose before bed.

During the day, he alternated between clients and checking on Steve, making certain that Steve was eating and had enough food in his fridge to prevent starvation during the hours that Bucky was with clients. For the first few days, Steve had mostly been sleeping when Bucky checked on him. Bucky had stayed with him for as long as he could, reluctant to return downstairs every time Darcy informed him that he had another client.

All in all, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he started to fall apart after those first three days. If he’d taken a step back at any point during those days, he would have seen that he wasn’t engaging in the most minimal of self-care activities, aside from eating at semi-regular intervals, primarily when Steve was eating as well. His sleep had been restless already because he couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through his head – the worries about Steve, the anger at the person who did that, all mixed in with his usual string of cognitive distortions about life in general – and was further interrupted every time Steve needed more meds or awoke. 

With work, he’d been running himself into the ground, even without the frequent breaks to check on Steve. In the back of his mind he was fully aware that increasing his client load by 100% probably wasn’t going to be good for him in the long run. While Natasha continued to search for a replacement, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to do anything else. The shop needed money and somehow, probably irrationally if he were to be honest with himself, he’d put the burden on himself. He’d justified it through constant reminders about the days he’d missed after his blackout and breakdown and how much money the shop probably lost then. 

If nothing else, he had some warning this time. 

He was sitting at his desk, reviewing the information for the clients he’d seen that day, when his vision blurred to the point that he couldn’t see the letters on the page anymore. He blinked once, twice, hoping that his eyes would readjust, but if anything, his vision seemed to be getting worse and he felt the first surge of panic. He blinked again and looked up to see if a different angle would help and immediately registered that moving his head had probably not been the best life decision he could have made when his vision grayed out completely. 

There was definitely a loss of time and at some point the rest of his senses must have shut down as well. He could hear someone saying his name – and he was pretty sure he’d been alone in the office a few minutes ago or whenever this started – and her voice sounded like he was underwater and barely able to register the reverberations. 

“Bucky,” she repeated, and he forced himself to reorient. Sound was coming easier now, so he tried to identify other sounds in the room. There was the clock on the wall, ticking away, and the sound of the sterilizing machine working its magic. 

When he blinked his eyes open, he found that his head was now resting on the desk, giving him a different perspective than the one he’d expected, and with an effort he managed to slur out, “’m okay” and tried to sit up.

Sitting up was another mistake and served no purpose except to hit him with another wave of dizziness. Thankfully the girl – Darcy, he now registered – prevented his body from pitching sideways off the chair, and steadied him until his head started to clear again.

He kept his eyes closed for the time being and tried to focus on deep breathing and the sensation of Darcy’s hand lightly rubbing the back of his neck. When he felt capable of speech, he automatically murmured, “Sorry” and tried to shove down the feelings of guilt.

“Hey, none of that, Robocop,” she said gently. “You’re as bad as Steve. There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“What’s he apologizing for this time?” a voice said from the doorway. Bucky inwardly cursed when he registered that the voice belonged to Steve, particularly when Steve added, “Shit, Bucky? You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he said automatically. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“He just passed out on his desk,” Darcy helpfully added.

Bucky caught the look of worry on Steve’s face and groaned and closed his eyes. That was easier than having to deal with Steve’s expression. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that sounds real fine,” Steve said, and his voice was gentle but worried and Bucky felt like the biggest fuck-up ever. “Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling, Buck?”

“Because I thought I was okay. I just pushed myself a little too hard, that’s all.”

“Look,” Steve said with a sigh, and Bucky tried not to imagine sinking into the chair and disappearing entirely. “Go home tonight.” Before Bucky could protest, he added, “I know you don’t sleep much when you’re here with me. I’ll be fine on my own. There’s pizza in the fridge, I can handle heating that up, and Darcy can shake out a couple painkillers for me to have available so that I don’t need to worry about opening the bottle.”

Bucky offered one or two protests, each of which were immediately shut down, before resigning himself to the fact that he would be heading home for the night. He promised Steve he’d text him when he reached the townhouse and assured him that he was capable of walking back.

At least, that was what he’d thought. He’d felt steady enough when he initially made it to his feet, gathered his bag, and started walking.

He wasn’t certain what happened. One moment, he’d been walking, treading the familiar path back to the townhouse, the next he had no idea where he was. Nothing around him seemed familiar. He couldn’t figure out where to turn or what to do.

He had the presence of mind to pull out his cell phone and dial Natasha’s number. Thankfully she answered within a few rings. 

“Hey, James. What’s going on?”

“I… I think I’m dissociating… or my head’s just fucked up, I don’t know.” His voice broke. “I haven’t been sleeping much lately. I just passed out again at work… Steve sent me home… and now I don’t know where I am. Nothing looks the way it should and I don’t know where to go.”

“It’s alright, James.” Her voice was soothing and helped to ground him. “Tell me what’s nearby and I’ll come find you, okay?” 

He rattled off the nearest street name and shop that he could see and then sat down on a bench. He was grateful that there were so many of them on the Georgetown streets. No one would look twice at a guy sitting on a bench, whereas he might draw too much attention to himself if he paced in front of the stores. 

He tried to ground himself. He tried deep breathing. He sifted through each and every technique he’d ever learned in individual therapy and the groups while he was inpatient and that he occasionally attended at the VA. The world around him remained unfamiliar and his thoughts refused to steady. The more he tried to focus, the more his head ached, and he eventually abandoned his attempts out of fear that he might black out in public.

When Natasha found him, he took a few moments to focus on her, having been lost in playing Tetris on his phone because it was something to hold his attention and the colors and sounds of the world were still too disorienting for him to handle. She smoothed his hair back and murmured his name. The world came a bit more clearly into focus at that and then steadied when Natasha took his hand and gently encouraged him to get to his feet.

He refused to think about how many steps back he’d taken over the past few hours.

-~-

“Think he’ll be hungry?” Clint asked and Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. He lowered his tone of voice. “Sorry.”

Natasha glanced down at Bucky, whose head was still pillowed in her lap, and lightly smoothed back his hair as he shifted restlessly in response to Clint’s voice. He made a soft, somewhat distressed sound but quieted down after a moment.

“He might be,” she said softly. “Order enough food for the three of us and Sam.”

Clint nodded. “Got it” before stepping out of the room to order the pizza. 

Natasha returned her attention to Bucky and continued combing her fingers through his hair, noting that the blue streaks were already starting to fade. Not that it mattered at this point with everything else going on. She was simply grateful that Bucky was sleeping quietly. He’d been unfocused and disoriented since she brought him back to the townhouse. Still, things could have been worse. 

She’d seen him worse.

At the least, she’d been able to ground him and gotten him settled. The meds kept him sleeping relatively quietly. She hadn’t asked him how many hours he’d slept over the past several days; she hadn’t needed to after looking at him. As much as she wanted to lecture him, she knew that wasn’t going to do any good.

Clint returned to the room and softly asked, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s exhausted.” She glanced down at Bucky. “Apparently taking care of Steve means that he forgets to take care of himself.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it probably also hasn’t helped that he’s the only person at Shield currently seeing clients,” Clint said.

“You’d be right. I haven’t seen him enough over the past several days to be certain but I’m pretty sure he’s probably been working himself as hard as he can and taking on extra clients. I’ve been asking around to see if we might be able to get a temporary replacement for Steve but most of the tattoo artists I know don’t have enough free time to devote to Shield at this point.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Clint inquired with a faint smirk.

“Because you need a license and a variety of certifications to be able to work in that field?” Natasha pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“Who’s to say that I don’t have those things?” 

“Are you serious or just messing with me?” 

“Serious. I did an apprenticeship over the summer a year ago and I’ve got my license, certifications, and an entire portfolio. I can bring everything over to the shop tomorrow, meet with Steve, see if he’d be willing to take me on for the time being.”

“You are a master of surprises, Clint,” she murmured with a slight smile. “You sure that won’t mess with your extra-curricular activities?”

“What extra-curricular activities?” he questioned innocently.

“You know, those ones that you don’t talk about, that lead to your face being beaten in.”

On second thought, Clint being unable to keep his usual schedule with those nightly activities was probably the best potential outcome. Steve wouldn’t have to worry about the shop. Bucky wouldn’t be running himself into a state of exhaustion.

Maybe Natasha could kill three birds with one stone.

-~-

His cell phone ringing yanked him out of a dream. Bucky had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. He was in a bed – his own bed, he was pretty sure, given that he was alone and he didn’t recognize the room as belonging to Steve – and he scrambled for his phone on the nightstand. He managed to answer with a half-asleep, “Hello?” 

He was met initially with ragged, uneven breathing, and immediately he found himself reorienting a bit more as he focused on the caller ID and saw that it was Steve’s number.

“Steve? You okay?” He pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Yeah. Hey. Sorry.” Each word came slowly, laboriously. “It’s nothing major. I… I tried not to call you but, uh, I’m… I’m kinda having some trouble. I’m… I’m having a minor asthma attack. I tried to use my inhaler but I… I can’t. Not with my fingers splinted.”

“Oh fuck,” Buky murmured. Before Steve even finished speaking, he’d rolled out of bed – and fought off the ensuing dizziness as he body reminded him that he needed to be slower and more careful with his movements – and was tugging on a pair of jeans.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do you need me to call an ambulance or anything?”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Steve said, which was immediately followed by several seconds of coughing that made Bucky fear that, yes, it was that bad. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. It… it just sucks.”

“Alright, just stay on the phone with me, okay?” Bucky pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and tracked down his set of keys.

“I’ll be fine. It’s… it’s not my first attack. I just kinda… I broke my… my first inhaler… trying to use… the… the pencil. Figured maybe I should call after that.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Steve,” Bucky groaned. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you.”

He kept the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he made his way out of the townhouse, passing just long enough to quickly leave a note on the whiteboard on the fridge so that Natasha wouldn’t be worried when she woke up and found him gone. With Steve’s uneven breathing his ear, Bucky barely remembered to lock the door behind him before breaking into a run.

Within a block, he couldn’t quite distinguish between where his own ragged breathing started and Steve’s began. After another two blocks, it occurred to him that when it came to exercise, cardio tended to have a variable – and frequently negative – effect on him. By that point, he couldn’t keep the number of blocks straight in his head anymore, and he stopped thinking because managing coherent thoughts was too difficult.

Running probably hadn’t been the best choice, in retrospect. If he’d wanted a potentially dangerous activity that would have gotten him to Shield faster, borrowing Natasha’s car might have been the way to go.

Given that he’d had to call Natasha earlier to bring him home, he thanked whatever muscle memory had brought him straight to the shop. The last several blocks had been nothing but pounding in his ears and occasional bouts with his vision blurring out to the point where he continued to be surprised that he hadn’t ended up on the ground. 

He dropped his keys the first time he attempted to unlock the front door and paused to take a few deep breaths before trying once more.

“Bucky?” Steve choked out. 

Bucky dropped the keys again in surprise. He’d forgotten he still had the line open and the phone pressed against his ear.

“Yeah, Steve,” he said, the words wooden and automatic. “I’m here. At Shield. Be up in a second.”

He hung up the phone, despite the fact that Steve was still speaking, having already identified that was just one more thing to try to juggle, and slipped it into his pocket before picking up the keys. This time, he had enough control over his still trembling but no longer shaking hand to manage to unlock the door.

Given that he managed to trip over everything that was remotely in his way as he wove a path to the stairs, he probably should’ve turned on the downstairs light. Evidently he still wasn’t thinking clearly. All he cared about was making it up the stairs to Steve’s apartment. Steve’s voice had been even weaker the last time he spoke and Bucky didn’t want to think about how long Steve had been going without normal amounts of oxygen.

The door to Steve’s apartment was unlocked – and Bucky made a mental note to ask Steve whether or not he’d left it unlocked all night or whether he’d opened it in preparation for Bucky’s arrival. Steve was curled up on the couch, his skin pale and his expression one of abject misery. He attempted a weak smile that did nothing to ease Bucky’s worry and then his eyes widened as he studied Bucky’s face.

For the first time, it occurred to Bucky that he probably should’ve spent more time pulling himself back together before heading upstairs. His hearing was still muted by the pounding of blood in his ears and his breathing was far from steady. Given Steve’s expression, he imagined his face was probably somewhat pale – though nowhere close to being the color of Steve’s skin – and he doubted his overall look of exhaustion had improved significantly from the last time he looked in the mirror.

That wasn’t important though. Steve was what was important.

“The inhaler?” he managed to ask and Steve pointed towards the bathroom.

“My replacement one’s in the cabinet in there,” Steve said, barely able to force the words out in-between gasps.

Bucky managed to find the inhaler hidden behind a few bottles of pills – and, Jesus Christ, how many bottles of prescription medication could be prescribed to one person? – and returned to the living room with it in his hand.

He followed Steve’s instructions, waiting until Steve had exhaled before pressing the mouth of the inhaler to his lips, and then pressed the button. After the first dose, Steve’s breathing had evened up enough that Bucky’s level of worry was substantially decreased. After the second dose, Steve’s breathing was almost normal.

“Sorry,” were the first words out of Steve’s mouth, followed by, “Maybe you should sit down.” 

Bucky registered that Steve probably had a point. With the adrenaline rush starting to fade, he could already feel his body shaking and knowing his luck, if he didn’t electively choose to sit down now, he’d probably end up on the floor within a matter of minutes.

“I didn’t want to call you.” Steve’s voice was back to being filled with misery and guilt. “I thought I could handle it myself. I...”

Bucky didn’t let Steve continue. Instead, he settled – well, mostly fell – onto the couch beside him and wrapped an arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m glad you called me.” 

“But you needed rest,” Steve argued. “I mean, you can sleep here tonight but…”

“Well, no shit, I need to stay here in case you have another asthma attack.”

Steve looked all the guiltier at that. “I’m sure I can figure out some way to use it on my own if you want to go back to the townhouse and get some proper rest.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said as reassuringly as he could. “I don’t mind.”

“You need rest, Buck. You’ve needed rest for days.” He sighed before asking, “You want any water or anything before settling down?” 

“Some water might help,” Bucky acknowledged. Grabbing him water might distract Steve from his self-deprecation for the moment, not to mention help clear Bucky’s head. 

Steve obliged. Once he’d disappeared into the kitchen, Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, breathing in slowly and hoping that some of the continued dizziness would fade. Naturally though, the more his head cleared, the more his thoughts went in directions he’d rather they didn’t. 

His brain had no problem pointing out to him that a normal person would have been able to come over in the middle of the night without nearly passing out in the process. A normal person would have just stayed with Steve because they wouldn’t have had to go home to get rest after pretty much collapsing from exhausting at work. A normal person wouldn’t have taken up Steve’s time and energy by worrying him constantly when the only person Steve should have been worrying about was himself.

Then again though, he wasn’t a normal person.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice broke through the fog in his mind. Bucky forced his eyes open, and flinched the slightest bit when he caught sight of the worried look on Steve’s face. 

Bucky managed a grin as he accepted the bottle of water in Steve’s hand and downed it in a matter of gulps. He frowned when he registered that Steve was still standing, looking uncertain and anxious. 

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked and Bucky quickly shook his head.

“I’m good, Steve. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I scared the shit out of you and as a result you practically ran over here in the middle of the night.” 

“There was no practically, I did run,” Bucky responded and immediately regretted his words when Steve’s frown increased. “But that’s no reason to be worried about me.”

It was actually a pretty damn good reason but Steve didn’t need to know that.

He motioned for Steve to return to his previous seat on the couch beside him. Steve obliged, though his expression and body language still indicated reluctance. His body easily folded against Bucky’s side and Bucky wrapped an arm around him as Steve’s head came to rest against his chest. 

“I’m okay,” he said once more, and pressed his lips to the top of Steve’s head. “I promise.”

Steve nuzzled against Bucky’s chest like a cat, and Bucky’s muscles relaxed. Having Steve curled up against him made this entire mess of an evening significantly better.

As did Steve’s suggestion of, “Let’s get you into bed.”

Bucky had no doubt that Steve’s focus was more on sleep but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t enjoy each other’s company.

On second thought, given Steve’s current level of brokenness and the fact that he could barely stand without passing out, maybe sleep was the better life decision for both of them.


	12. Interlude: I've Watched The Stars Fall Silent From Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take a short break from the Bucky and Steve saga to find out how Thor and Jane's date went.
> 
> (The answer to that is much more successfully than Steve and Bucky's first date.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect another chapter coming within the next 24-48 hours to make up for the delay over the weekend and because I cannot leave the boys broken and struggling for much longer. Also because the next chapter will be introducing a set of characters I've been waiting on and I'm excited to post it.

The latest text message greeted her when she rolled over in bed on Tuesday morning.

_Seriously, Jane, I’m starting to get a little worried. You went on a date with this guy on Saturday and it’s Tuesday and I’ve gotten no details yet. Did he kidnap you to outer space or something? Is he keeping you in his basement? Should I call the cops?_

Out of the slight concern that Darcy would actually call the cops, Jane composed a short, sweet text message.

_I’m not in his basement or another galaxy. I’ll tell you about my date soon._

It would help if she even knew where to start. The past few days were like a dream.

The phone call on Friday evening, that she’d managed to take on one of her breaks at work, had turned into a late night visit to the coffee shop from Thor that thankfully did not include the breaking of any further coffee mugs. She had been slightly surprised to find that he did not appear to have been drinking at all that evening, almost as though he’d spent the evening in instead of going out.

He’d been the perfect gentleman and insisted on walking her home when she finally closed down the shop and locked up. She’d found herself hoping that he’d kiss her before leaving her on the front doorstep to her apartment building but he only gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before saying, “I will see you in the morning, Jane Foster. Have a good night.”

Sleep had been an impossibility, of course, and she’d finally resigned herself to taking a dose of Nyquil to help her settle down – something she’d never done before – because the last thing she needed was to be exhausted and sleep deprived for her date.

True to his word, Thor had arrived at her apartment at 11:00 on the dot the following morning to pick her up for brunch. She couldn’t even remember the last time one of her dates showed up at the time he said he’d arrive, though she also couldn’t remember the last official date she’d even been on. As he drove, Thor mentioned they had reservations at The Argonaut for brunch and Jane contemplated whether or not this might have been a dream because it seemed far too good to be true. This dream-like sense was particularly true when she discovered the food at The Argonaut was just as excellent as she’d heard rumor of over the past several months.

Thor had insisted on paying for the meal, though he’d promised she could reciprocate if she decided she wanted to try a second date, and she’d agreed.

The trip to the Air and Space Museum had followed brunch and she’d enjoyed seeing the old exhibits for the first time in years, as well as finally getting to see some of the exhibits she’d heard about from others but hadn’t gotten to visit given her schedule. Thor seemed legitimately interested in the exhibits as well, frequently asking questions of Jane but balancing that well with supplying his own knowledge and understanding.

She’d admittedly been surprised to realize how smart Thor was – despite the conversations and encounters they’d had since then, she still saw the big, drunk frat boy who’d broken a coffee cup the first night she met him – and she found herself warming up to him more and more as the day progressed.

He’d made them reservations for dinner at CityZen. She’d tried not to be impressed at how many new restaurants she was having the opportunity to try the food at during this date. Given that her recent meals had predominantly consisted of Ramen noodles and instant mac and cheese, these meals were a definite significant improvement.

Over the meal, he’d informed her that the person whose house – one in the more rural areas of Virginia - they would be visiting that evening was his father’s colleague, Erik Selvig, a name that Jane was more than familiar with, given his research on Einstein-Rosen bridges. Thor was more than willing to discuss the fact that Dr. Selvig had been a close friend and correspondent of his father’s over the years and that he had insisted Thor bring Jane to visit upon finding out her research interests and work.

Jane had simultaneously been excited and terrified by the prospect of meeting with Dr. Selvig. The man had been responsible for writing the preeminent texts on the subject of Einstein-Rosen bridges, the same ones she’d been rereading obsessively in her quest to complete her dissertation, and her entire research focus was based on his work. Thor assured her that there was no need to be nervous – though by that point Jane had lost her appetite somewhat - and, as it turned out, he was right.

Upon leaving the restaurant, the rest of the evening at Dr. Selvig’s had melded into long conversations about theory and practical application, followed by stargazing, with Thor providing Jane with the freedom to debate and discuss everything anything and everything theoretical with Dr. Selvig. For his part, Thor predominantly listened, though never once did Jane catch him looking bored, and on several occasions he asked questions or made comments that not only showed he’d been listening but also contributed to the discussion.

If all of that weren’t enough, Dr. Selving had also applied the theories to the view through the telescope and that had led into further conversation and debate. By the time the night came to an end, Jane’s mind spun with new ideas, her thesis statement for her dissertation had been revised multiple times, and she had Dr. Selvig’s card and an offer to assist in future research.

Thor and Jane left shortly before dawn and, despite the fact that Jane knew she shouldn’t screw up her sleep schedule anymore than she already had, she could not decline Thor’s offer of going back to the embassy to watch the sunrise from one of the balconies. The two had sat side-by-side, Thor’s arm around her and her head rested against his shoulder. By the time the sun had risen, her recent lack of sleep and all-nighters had caught up and she was starting to drift off.

Thor continued to be a perfect gentleman and offered her his bed, which she accepted after a few brief, weak attempts at protesting. She regretted wasting a single moment after sinking into the mattress – a definite step up from the pull-out bed she had in her apartment where the springs dug into her spine and she had to position herself carefully to avoid a bar digging into her back - and drifting into the best sleep she’d had in months, possibly even years.

Waking up in the mid-afternoon in his bed had been a bit of a shock – she couldn’t even think of the last night she woke up in someone else’s bed with the exception of the handful of occasions she’d ended up on Darcy’s couch, which wasn’t a bed anyways – and she’d been uncertain of what to do or where to go or whether she was even allowed to wander around the embassy until Thor stepped inside the room with a tray of breakfast and lunch food in his hands and explained he wasn’t certain which one she’d prefer at this hour.

He’d eaten with her and they’d shared the food over a discussion of several of the theoretical areas they’d spoken of with Dr. Selvig. Jane was impressed by Thor’s memory of the content from that evening and his ability to apply the material to real world events. She explained how those theories related to her dissertation and by the time the food was gone, she felt reinvigorated and reengaged and ready to put in an evening of dissertation hours despite her reluctance to bring her time with Thor to an end.

He’d asked whether she wanted a tour of the embassy before heading to the car for him to take her back to her place and she had agreed for the benefit of spending that much longer with him. As he showed her around, she’d caught site of his brother sitting in the library, reading a book with a rather bored expression that turned to something darker, something more akin to anger and disgust as he’d seen her with Thor. The expression smoothed over almost instantaneously as he offered to join them in the tour, adding supplemental information to what Thor was already providing. Yet she couldn’t quite get that look out of her mind as he disengaged – providing the excuse that he had a paper to write – as she and Thor headed to the car.

When Thor finally left her at the house, he pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. She fought the urge to ask him if he wanted to come up to her apartment, in part because she didn’t want to be the kind of girl who invited a boy upstairs after the first night together, but more because she didn’t want to introduce him to the condition or size of her studio apartment after seeing the luxury of his own living conditions. While she had a feeling Thor wouldn’t care, the last thing she wanted was for him to see the fact that her couch doubled as her sleep sofa – which she was pretty sure was currently in bed mode and, as a result, meant that there was no room to even walk because her apartment was that damn small – or that her kitchen was in her bedroom, which was also her living room, which made cooking – and setting off the fire alarm when she cooked – a problem. 

Upon returning to her apartment and turning on her laptop, she’d discovered far too many crisis emails from her students and professors in her inbox – great because that meant rapidly switching back and forth between the roles of student and teacher depending on who she was responding to – and tried to refocus on her scholastic and vocational life. Despite her enjoyment of the previous evening, she’d found herself regretting going out with Thor given how far behind she was on everything now. As the evening went on and sleep became a progressively less viable option, she started to rethink her life and choices as they pertained to him.

By the next morning, she’d composed – and spent most of a sleepless night composing - multiple ways of explaining to Thor that dating was not something she could handle in her life right now. She’d considered sending him an email or text message, though those seemed far too impersonal given the night – and didn’t that sound suggestive and wrong given what actually happened? – they spent together.

She’d tried to lose herself in work the following morning – Monday morning - half because she had no other choice, half because she couldn’t stand to think anymore. She was trying to prepare for the week when there was a now familiar knock on the front door and she looked up to see Thor standing there with a big smile and a bouquet of flowers.

Jane exhaled slowly and then steeled herself as she walked forward. She wasn’t entirely certain how to explain to this lovely man who’d just woken up hours earlier than he needed to for class to bring her flowers at work that she couldn’t possibly date him but there was no other choice. She fixed a smile on her face as she unlocked the door.

“We need to talk,” she said by way of greeting because why would she beat around the bush?

Thor’s brow furrowed but he agreeably said, “Of course. What is on your mind?”

She swallowed hard, looking at his earnest expression and the flowers in his hand before steadying her resolve. “Look, Thor, to be honest, this weekend was one of the best weekends of my life but as much as I want to, I can’t do it again. With my schedule for work and all of the responsibilities from my program, losing 24 hours was more than I could come back from.”

Thor looked quite concerned. “I apologize for that, Jane. I had never meant to put you that far behind with your work. Would there be anything I could do to help you?”

She started to shake her head and then hesitated. After all, she did have a grading rubric for homework assignments and quizzes for the class she was teaching. There were other areas she could identify where an additional set of eyes and hands would be helpful but how could she do that to someone she cared about? Wouldn’t that be the same as using him?

“There are,” she admitted but quickly added, “But I wouldn’t ask that of you. It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t want to use you. You’re nice and far too kind.” 

“But I’m offering,” Thor pointed out. “I have less responsibilities as you, as I do not work currently and I am in a less intensive and rigorous program. I would be more than happy to help you.” 

“I just… I wouldn’t want to base our relationship on that. If there were a relationship, I mean.”

“I like you, Jane Foster,” Thor said with a smile. “I care about you a lot. I would be honored to help you with anything you require. If that means we have more time to spend together, wonderful. If it means you have less responsibilities on your shoulders, that is good enough for me. Any time I can spend with you is time well spent.” 

Jane hesitated – the thought that this beautiful, wonderful, caring man might be willing to make things work between the two of them, even when that meant taking on additional work and helping her out, when she couldn’t give half of that back, was somewhat terrifying and unnerving to her – and then exhaled slowly. 

“I can’t promise anything,” she admitted. “I care about you, too. I would like to make things worse, but with everything going on in my life, I can’t guarantee what will happen.”

“No one can. If you are willing to accept my help, I am more than willing to give it. I expect nothing in return, except perhaps the opportunity to spend some time with you, even if that time is spent completing work. If I am able to help enough for the opportunity to go out for dinner, that would be wonderful, but if we are to order food in and work alongside of one another, that would be equal in my eyes. I only wish to get to know you more.” 

Jane couldn’t come up with any other arguments to that, as much as she wanted to because she was afraid of this going further, of becoming more attached to him. Instead, she answered his smile with one of her own. “If you’re that willing, how does 8:00 PM tonight sound to you?” 

He covered her lips with own before murmuring, “It sounds as though I’ll see you at 8:00 PM, Jane Foster.” 

And so he had. She’d spent hours trying to organize her apartment to a way where her ridiculous living situation would appear less so, not that it mattered because Thor was readily adaptable and didn’t bat an eye as he took in her limited space. As she worked on the latest chapter of her dissertation – heavily influenced by her weekend spent discussing everything with Dr. Selvig and Thor – Thor graded the latest set of assignments based on her rubric, frequently checking in with her to make certain he was doing everything appropriately. 

With his help, everything was completed well before midnight and she offered to put on a movie, unless Thor needed to leave. With limited self-consciousness, she’d opened up the sofa-bed – praying she wasn’t sending the wrong message – and the two of them had settled down to watch _The Abyss_ until Jane fell asleep with Thor’s arm around her.

Which was why she hadn’t known what to say in response to Darcy’s text on Tuesday morning because Thor was still curled up with her, his arm wrapped securely around her waist and breath warming the back of her neck.

How did she possibly explain any of that to Darcy? Where would she even start?

How could she explain what it was like to have Thor then roll over, press a kiss to her lips, wish her a good morning, and then offer to cook breakfast?


	13. Well, I Know I Had It Coming, I Know I Can't Be Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the identity of the culprits of the recent break-ins is somewhat revealed, the gang has a stakeout in Shield, and Clint fights the urge to take in more strays.

After that horrific day and night, Bucky tried to figure out how to balance taking care of Steve and himself. Thankfully, Clint showed up the following day for an informal semi-interview with Steve, who’d already shared with Bucky that if Clint’s credentials all checked out, there was no doubt he’d be hiring him. Surprisingly, the quality of the artwork in Clint’s portfolio was excellent. Steve readily agreed to take him on for the next couple of weeks, with the determination that Clint would only be responsible for providing the designs already in the books. Any commissioned designs would be put on hold until Steve was medically cleared to return to work. 

Clint’s only requirement for accepting the job was that Lucky would be allowed to stay in the lobby, which Darcy was all for given that she’d wrapped her arms around Lucky’s neck moments after Clint arrived for the interview with the dog by his side. By the time Clint left, she had already ordered a personalized food bowl and water bowl, as well as offered to puppy sit on any necessary occasions. 

With Clint taking on several hours a week, Bucky reluctantly accepted a decrease to his client load, which helped him balance self-care and keeping an eye on Steve. Not to mention that after Bucky’s last fuck up, Steve was keeping a closer eye on him. Steve’s ability to read Bucky’s body language meant that sometimes Steve caught the signs that Bucky was running himself into the ground before Bucky realized it himself. Although he protested the first time - and found himself on the verge of passing out as a result – he stopped arguing when Steve would tell him to head up to the apartment and lie down for a while, or when he reminded him to eat something.

Within the next week, the atmosphere in the shop balanced out, with Clint easing into his role as the new tattoo artist. Despite some of Bucky’s concerns, Clint arrived to the shop on time each morning and even brought over an extra, brand new coffee maker to supply everyone with their caffeine addiction. Some mornings he was shockingly even in the shop before Bucky and Steve managed to make their way downstairs. Frequently, they would find Darcy and Clint on their second cup of coffee, engaged in easy banter, and Bucky found himself progressively more comfortable joining into the conversation. Despite some initial apprehension about having Clint’s dog spending time in the shop, Bucky discovered that he enjoyed Lucky’s company more than he would have expected. 

Depending on each of their schedules, Bucky, Clint, and Darcy alternated between which one of them would walk with Steve to and from classes. Given that there had still been no identification of Steve’s assailant, no one was willing to let him wander the streets alone. Bucky had a theory that Clint and Darcy found excuses to not be able to meet Steve on campus around lunchtime in order to give Bucky and Steve the chance to grab food on their way back to make up for their failed first date.

Natasha came by daily to visit with Clint. Bucky had a feeling that she was also there to check up on him – well, probably both of them, although since Clint started working at Shield, there had been a sharp decline in the number of injuries he sustained. In the evening, Bucky cooked dinner and did what he could to help Steve complete his homework. Despite the fact that the visible reminder of Steve’s injuries bothered Bucky constantly, Steve was clearly healing and managed to maintain an optimistic outlook overall, which somehow kept Bucky a bit more balanced and stable, at least in terms of that.

All in all, things were going well. Bucky was functioning at an above average level for himself. Steve was adapting to his lack of working fingers. Clint and Darcy were bonding. 

In retrospect, Bucky should have realized that things were going too well because that was just how his life worked. Every time there was an improvement in one area something declined in another area.

That day in particular had been surprisingly good. The previous evening, Darcy and Clint stayed late to help touch up Bucky’s almost entirely faded dye job. The end result was that Bucky now had multiple shades of blue interspersed with his natural color and Darcy had even trimmed his hair to a slightly more manageable length, even if shaggy was still the best description of his hair for the moment. They’d ended the evening with drinks and a couple rounds of Cards Against Humanity.

As a result, Bucky woke up feeling pretty great and that mood continued throughout the day. He met up with Steve for lunch and on the way back impulsively decided to stop into one of the other tattoo parlors. As everything worked out, the piercist was available and Bucky returned with Steve to Shield with an industrial piercing in his right ear. 

Everything was going just fine. 

At least until the girl walked in.

-~-

Most people thought Clint was spacey. He encouraged that line of thinking, for the most part, even if his own assessment of himself was that he was unusually observant.

For instance, he saw the girl approaching the shop before she even stepped inside. He noted her companion, the tall, far-too-skinny boy with the attempted dye job of white hair that looked as though he’d grabbed a gallon of regular bleach and used that to dye his hair in a gas station bathroom.

Clint noted that both of their clothes were ragged and patched in a way that might have been punk but more likely spoke to homelessness.

He watched her walk towards the shop while the boy stayed outside, leaning far too casually against a streetlight, his hands in his pockets, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Bucky and Darcy were sitting on stools behind the counter near the register. At some point, Darcy had discovered a series of band gig flyers she’d been collecting as they were handed to her at various points around the city. Rather than do something normal with them, like hang them up or throw them out, she’d decided to create several differnt origami fortunetellers. For the moment, Bucky was obligingly playing along, throwing out different numbers and colors so that Darcy could inform him that he would marry a famous, beautiful, older, rich woman – and Bucky noted that Darcy should probably alert Steve to that fact – then that he could ignore the previous fortune because fortunes always lied, and finally that the stars were not aligned for any more fortunes that day. Judging by the look of relief on Bucky’s face, the girl walking into the store was a welcome distraction after all of that, especially when Darcy had three other fortune tellers with brand new fortunes ready to go. 

Now that the girl was in front of him, Clint gauged her age as falling between fifteen and seventeen, although the fact that her hair was in a long braid going halfway down her back was probably doing nothing for her appearance in terms of trying to look older. Regardless, she was definitely not old enough to be looking for a tattoo or piercing without parental permission. Of course, Clint was reasonably obtaining certain body modification weren’t part of her motives for being there. 

“You need any help?” Darcy asked, tossing the fortune teller on the counter.

The girl shook her head quickly – too quickly – and then smiled, as though to cover it up. “No, I’m fine. I’m just looking around.” 

Bucky rose to his feet, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ears as he surveyed the girl with a frown. She ignored the direction of Bucky’s gaze, looking through the display cases of jewelry and the art on the walls, and as far as Clint could tell, Bucky didn’t notice how her gaze darted towards the upper corners of the walls or past the cash register to the safe rather ineffectually hidden beyond. 

However, she seemed to be aware that she was under scrutiny. She started asking Darcy questions about the prices of certain pieces of jewelry and what it would cost to get her nose pierced or belly button pierced. 

Once the direction of the conversation moved towards the actual act of piercing, Bucky spoke up. “How old are you, kid?” 

She fixed him with a smile that was charming and endearing all at once. “I’m eighteen. Are you the one who does the piercings?” 

“I do,” Bucky confirmed. He’d crossed his arms over his chest at that point, which looked more intimidating than Clint guessed Bucky had meant for it to. The girl’s gaze wandered towards the metal arm, although she didn’t comment on it. “And no offense but we’re gonna need an ID to do any work on you.” 

“Sure thing,” the girl said. Clint automatically wondered if she had a fake ID on her because there was no way she was old enough to pull out a valid legitimate one that would actually get her a piercing today. Unsurprisingly, as far as he was concerned, she checked one pocket, then the other, and frowned. “Shit, I must have left it at home. Um, is there any way you could make an exception? I’ve got cash on me and I promise I’m eighteen.”

Bucky shook his head. “Sorry, kid, but we need to document your age through ID. The shop would be in a lot of trouble if I worked on someone who wasn’t old enough to sign the consents.” 

The girl sighed, looking quite disappointed. “Okay, I get it. Thanks anyway. I’ll come back later with my ID.”

“We hope to see you again,” Bucky said and his stern expression did lighten up the slightest bit. Apparently the girl’s act was working on him. “ I’m sorry but like I said, it’s just policy.” 

“I totally get it,” the girl assured him. “I know how policies are. No hard feelings. I’ll see you guys around.”

With that, she walked to the door, pausing long enough to wave – or, if Clint were correct in his assessment, check for any cameras outside the entrance of the shop – and then stepped outside. He watched as she spoke briefly with the bleached blonde before the two of them walked up the street.

Darcy and Bucky seemed to have already forgotten about the visit, given that Bucky was very seriously discussing the possibility of having Steve design a tattoo for him once he was cleared to return to work. 

Clint, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about everything he’d just seen and finally said, “You know, she was totally casing the place.” 

Darcy and Bucky stopped mid-sentence and stared at Clint as though he had suddenly turned into a dragon and sprouted multiple heads. 

That look didn’t decrease as he added, “We should probably have a stakeout tonight.”

-~-

“You’re serious.” Bucky stared at Clint. “Like seriously serious.” 

He mentally reviewed the last several minutes and his interaction with the girl and couldn’t identify anything that might have indicated that she was casing the place.

“Clint, I think you’re overreacting,” Darcy said. “I watched her, she was just looking at the displays. What makes you think she was casing the place?”

“I tracked her eye movements. She was scoping out security – or the lack thereof – and the locks,” Clint said as though obtaining a list of behavioral observations was a normal thing to be doing.

“You were tracking her eye movements,” Darcy repeated. “Why?”

Clint shrugged. “Wasn’t doing anything else. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“And all of that tipped you off, huh?” Bucky asked skeptically. He liked Clint, the guy had a heart of gold from everything he’d seen, even if he was kind of a fuck up. Still, this seemed to be going too far.

“Her body language in general told me something was off with her. Could’ve been that she’s underage – she couldn’t produce her ID after all – and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sign the consents to get a piercing or tattoo. But given her eye movements and her overall lack of distress when you called her out on the age thing, I’m guessing that body language was far more related to the fact that she was casing the joint.”

Before Bucky could respond to that, Darcy’s eyes widened and she blurted out, “Holy shit! Maybe she’s the one who’s been robbing the shops in Georgetown.”

“Maybe but I don’t think she’s in it alone. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that she’s got a partner. Probably that bleached blonde I saw her meet up with outside.”

“Huh? What blonde?” Darcy glanced out the door to try and get a glimpse of them.

“They’re gone,” Clint said unnecessarily. “Didn’t want to hang around for long. Also ups the suspiciousness factor.”

“So, you think they’ve got the whole Bonnie and Clyde gig going, only with less corpses?” Darcy inquired.

“One would hope with less corpses,” Bucky said drily.

“One would.” Clint grinned. “So, who’s up for a stakeout party tonight?”

-~-

He replaced the plywood over the hole in the side of the building. His eyes had almost adjusted to the dim light when there was the flare of a match and the room was lit by a soft, golden glow of the kerosene lamp they’d managed to scavenge a couple of days back. He took his time, making sure the plywood was secure and reconnecting the soda can laden wires that doubled as traps and a security system for them, before settling down on the pile of blankets that served as their bed for the time being.

One of the blankets in question was already draped around his sister, and he could see her shivering despite the warmth it offered. He tucked another blanket around her, leaving his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders once the blanket was in place, and didn’t even think of moving away until her shivering decreased into the occasional shudder. When that failed to happen, he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead and frowned when her skin was all-but-burning to the touch. 

“The fever’s back. You took the last dose of meds this morning, right?” 

He didn’t like the fact that even though it was only the beginning of October, the temperature had already dropped significantly. Finding insulated places in the winter was difficult at the best of times and with his sister already sick before the season even changed to winter, he doubted things were going to improve from this point onward.

“Right,” she murmured. “At least we know where our next paycheck’s coming from.”

“You sure you’re up for a job tonight?” 

“I don’t have a choice, do I? I mean, you’re not going to leave me here by myself.”

The mere thought of doing that left him feeling somewhat sickened. They’d only been in this place for the past two nights. Over the past several years, they’d moved from place to place within city limits because they’d either unwittingly wandered into someone’s territory or the police started raiding and rounding up the nearby homeless. The homeless camps and shelters had never been options for them from the beginning; too much of a chance they would be recognized. Too much of a chance they’d be required to show their IDs. 

Not that they had IDs anymore. Those had been burned a long time ago.

“Those aren’t our only options. I could swing by the 7-11 on the corner,” he suggested. “Try to swipe a bottle or two of Nyquil. Some of the cameras are broken. I could probably get around them. I’m pretty fast.”

“And if you got caught, you’d end up in jail, and that wouldn’t be the worst of it,” she pointed out. 

“But breaking into a tattoo parlor is that much less risky?” 

“We’ve gotten away with it so far,” she said with a shrug. “Once we have the money, we can move back to the old tricks. Scams. That sorta thing. Less risky than the breaking and entering deal.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “We’ve made it this far. We only have to make it a few more weeks. Then we’ll be 18. He won’t be able to touch us then.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s right. Just a few more weeks. Then we’ll be free.”

He pressed his lips against her forehead. Free; that was an interesting concept. After all, that had never been a word in their vocabulary. 

Besides, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. The two of them were together. 

That was the way it always had been.

That was all that mattered.

-~-

Everyone responded to Clint’s suggestion differently. Based on Bucky’s report, Steve had demonstrated his usual complete lack of common sense by looking far too excited by the possibility of a stakeout. Bucky – and Clint – made sure to let her knew that Steve jumped on the suggestion immediately and upped the ante by offering to order pizza for everyone. 

Natasha, on the other hand, had initially been concerned when Clint ran up to her after class and cheerfully told about the plan. Her first question had been whether Clint believed there was a high threat risk and whether calling the cops might be the better course of action. Clint had assured her that the potential robbers were kids, most likely not even eighteen, and that he was pretty sure they’d be unarmed. Natasha had to admit she’d been intrigued by the suggestion – after all, it had been a long time since she’d gotten to have some fun – and she’d offered to bring her own taser. She made a mental note to check on the new tech her father recently had bought for her and see if any of that would be helpful. 

By 6:00 PM, everyone except for Clint had reconvened at Shield. Steve greeted Natasha at the front door, only to realize that he couldn’t manage the lock with his splinted fingers, and sheepishly called Bucky over to help.

“Hello, James,” Natasha said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. She saw the new piercing and quirked an eyebrow. “Something you want to tell me about?” 

He offered her a grin by way of response and wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders as he stepped back to let her inside. “Hey, Nat, and, no, not really. Just thought I should add a few new piercings if I’m gonna keep working here.” 

She noted the choice of words and inquired, “A few piercings, huh? Anywhere else you care to mention?”

“I plead the fifth,” he said with a wink. “Pizza should be here in a couple minutes. Steve ordered enough to feed an army.” 

“We’ll need an army to fend off those robbers,” Steve said cheerfully and, as there was a knock on the door, added, “And there’s it is.”

Steve extricated himself from Bucky in order to pay the deliveryman and Bucky helped with carrying the five pizzas he’d purchased. The boxes were barely positioned on the floor before another knock sounded and Natasha opened the door to let Clint in.

Thankfully the pizza delivery guy was gone by this point, seeing as Natasha was impressed by the fact that somehow Clint hadn’t been taken down by the cops while walking over. She couldn’t imagine how he’d walked through the streets of DC with a quiver filled with arrows and a bow hooked over his shoulder.

Clint greeted her with a quick kiss and hello before seeing the pizza and running over to grab a slice. In his hurry, he apparently didn’t notice the stares he was getting from the entire crew. He’d bitten into the slice by the time he registered the shocked expressions in his direction and he slowly chewed and swallowed before asking, “What?”

“You’re carrying a bow and you’ve got a quiver of arrows,” Bucky said unnecessarily, because everyone could already see that fact.

Natasha, for her part, just smirked. “Oh, Clint didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell us what, that he’s secretly Legolas on the weekends?” Steve asked.

Rather than leaving them in suspense, Natasha explained. “He’s a championship archer. He has been since he was a kid. He’s won a ton of awards over the years.”

Clint just grinned and took another bite of pizza. “I love my bow.”

“We couldn’t tell,” Bucky said mildly. 

All in all, Natasha was reasonably certain that this was going to be an interesting night.

Twenty minutes later and the mood of the group was more suited to a party than a stakeout. Steve was nestled against Bucky’s side, his face lit up as he laughed at a joke. Bucky’s eyes were bright, his expression radiating happiness, as he ran his fingers through Steve’s blonde hair. Clint had perched himself on one of the display cases and was inhaling what had to be the last piece of the entire pizza he’d eaten. His bow sat on the glass beside him, his quiver leaning against the side.

For Natasha’s part, she was comfortable observing everyone from a distance. She hadn’t spent as much time with Bucky since he’d started dating Steve – which still felt a little strange, to the point where she found herself automatically checking his room each morning and sometimes in the evenings when she got home from classes or work – and especially with the recent assault on Steve and seeing how he’d responded to that, she wanted to see how he was holding up. 

Based on his current presentation, Natasha was reasonably certain that Bucky’s condition had improved since she last saw him. For starters, he clearly was not sleep deprived and exhausted. Furthermore, he seemed comfortable and at ease, the most she’d seen from him since he moved to DC. The shadows beneath his eyes had lightened and the constant tension in his jaws and shoulders she’d noted since he moved in with her was all but gone. Even his movements around Steve were natural, something that previously took months with other people, like Clint, despite how often Clint had been over at the townhouse during that time period.

Still, now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on Bucky. That much she realized as she glanced at her watch and noted the time.

“Alright, Scooby Gang, it’s almost show time,” she said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Time for everyone to get into position.”

Bucky helped Steve bring up the empty pizza boxes to the apartment upstairs and upon returning, Bucky reluctantly disengaged from Steve – though he paused long enough to kiss him – and went into his own office to wait. Natasha helped Steve curl his skinny frame into one of the storage cabinets in the main room before positioning herself behind the couch.

She watched Clint make a final check of the lobby and the back rooms, as well as the locks on the front doors, before he turned off the light. She heard the rustling of cloth as he popped back behind one of the display cases – not the one with the register and hiding the safe of course, they didn’t want to make things that easy – and then the room was silent and they waited.

-~-

As the two of them made their way towards the tattoo shop, he was grateful to find that the streets were mainly empty. He’d initially tugged up the hood of the tattered sweatshirt upon stepping outside – the wind chill had to have dropped the temperature to near freezing - but he pulled the hood down as they approached the shop. The last thing they needed was to look overly sketchy. He’d forced his sister to take the warmer clothing of the slightly tattered black wool coat they’d stolen a few weeks back from a thrift store. Before they’d even stepped outside, she’d had several coughing fits. That was enough for him to decide she needed the warmer jacket more than he did. 

Upon reaching the shop, he positioned himself by the doorway, effectively blocking the view of anything beyond him. The broken cell phone they’d found in the trash several weeks back was taken out of his pocket and pressed to his ear. He pretended to talk on it as his sister knelt down behind where he stood. He checked to make certain his frame hid her, and she fiddled with the lock picking tools for a few moments before starting. He kept watch as she worked, noting that the street remained clear and empty.

He heard the click as the lock opened before his sister spoke – and he barely registered the shift from English – and turned as she let him know they were ready to proceed. The doorknob twisted open easily and he did one last quick scan of the neighborhood before they stepped into the darkened shop.

The flashlights desperately needed new batteries but that was probably a good thing, as it kept the beams low and therefore less likely to draw any unnecessary attention. He noted the blinds in the windows, and she was careful to avoid shining the light off of any reflective surfaces as they moved their way across the room. She spoke again, her voice barely a low murmur, and he nodded despite the fact that she couldn’t necessarily see the gesture. The safe was behind the display case, surprisingly – and moronically – close to the register. 

“Shine your light over here,” she requested. He obliged, keeping watch as she carefully worked on the safe despite the fact that there were no sounds or signs that anyone might catch them in the process of breaking, entering, and stealing.

None, at least, until everything went wrong.

-~- 

Bucky had, admittedly, missed the first part of the situation, given that he was hurrying out from his office by the time everything went down. By the time he made it into the lobby, the lights were on, throwing the scene into stark detail. Natasha was positioned at the front door, blocking the exit, and Clint was crouched on the display case, an arrow notched and aimed at the intruders. The kids were between the register and the safe, the boy positioned in front of the girl, his stance defensive and protective. His attention was fully on Clint and Natasha, but Bucky caught the girl’s gaze move in his direction – or at least in the direction of the still darkened hallway – and he positioned himself in the doorway to deter her from attempting to escape that way.

The boy snarled something – something that wasn’t English or any language Bucky could fully identify but somehow still sounded familiar, though he couldn’t tell which language it was closest to – before switching to English.

“What the fuck? Are you seriously pointing a bow and arrow at us like you’re Robin Hood or something?” 

The girl, whose expression was mixed with confusion and fear but also included something more calculating as she scanned the area, tugged on the boy’s arm and murmured something to him in the same familiar yet unfamiliar language. Bucky tensed in preparation – though he had no real idea what he was planning on doing, it wasn’t as though he was willing to tackle or otherwise hurt a kid, even one trying to steal from the shop – and then found himself distracted as Steve attempted to climb out of the cabinet Natasha had stuffed him into. Bucky stepped closer to help him out.

The boy and girl took the opportunity with the resulting chaos to make a bid for freedom and only made it over the counter before Natasha ordered, “Don’t you dare even try.” 

Although Bucky was more intent on helping Steve out of the cabinet, he was reasonably certain that the words the boy spat in Natasha’s direction were probably nothing polite – and was rather surprised to note that Natasha didn’t seem to recognize the language seeing as she typically knew every language or at least was studying it – but before he could muse on that for more than a few seconds, Steve spoke.

“Who are you and why are you trying to rob my shop?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes in arguably the most threatening look Bucky had seen from him before.

“You don’t care who we are,” the girl said defiantly. “Look, we didn’t take anything. We’re sorry. Just let us go and I promise we won’t come back.”

The boy tugged her back a bit, eyeing Clint and Natasha warily, and said, “Yeah, just let us go. Please don’t hurt my sister or arrest us. I know we shouldn’t have done it but my sister’s sick. This was my idea, I didn’t know what else to do. We don’t have any money and I just wanted to get her medicine. Alright? That’s all.”

While Bucky sincerely doubted that was the entire story, he had to admit that at least some of that seemed plausible. 

Natasha, on the other hand, looked doubtful. “Are you really sick, kid? Or is that just a sob story?”

“Toss me a thermometer and find out,” the girl replied. “We have no reason to lie to you. Just… just please don’t call the cops. We didn’t hurt anyone or take anything. Everything’s fine.” 

Steve seemed to agree with Bucky’s internal assessment of the veracity of their words given that he said, “They’re being honest, Nat. She looks feverish. You know I’d be able to tell.” 

Natasha nodded almost imperceptibly before addressing the kids again and asking, “Are you the two who have been robbing shops in Georgetown?”

“Nope, not us,” the girl said quickly, almost too quickly, and then appeared to cover it up by coughing into her hand.

“Yeah, this was the first thing we did anything like this,” the boy – her brother, apparently – added.

Clint – who still had his bow strung and pointed at the kids – raised an eyebrow. “I call bullshit on that. You were far too organized and you’d cased this place earlier today. You knew what you were doing. You knew what to look for.” 

“You mean earlier?” the girl asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. “I wanted to get a piercing. That’s all. There’s no proof it was us robbing other places because it wasn’t us.”

Given the weakness of that defense, Bucky considered chiming in but then decided that Natasha and Clint seemed to have everything in hand. Given his tendency towards emotionality, he probably wasn’t the best person for an interrogation.

“That’s not exactly convincing,” Natasha said. “I’m with Clint on that one.”

Bucky noted for the first time the look of concern on Steve’s face before Steve even spoke.

“How long did the two of you run away from home?”

The boy bristled immediately. “Who says we ran away from anywhere?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Steve said with a certain level of sarcasm. “The fact that you have to steal money to buy medicine instead of asking your parents? Plus your clothes are too dirty and worn to qualify for the punk look?”

The kids shared a look before the boy said, “We’re eighteen but there’s no parents in the picture. They both died.”

“Yeah, we take care of ourselves,” the girl added. “Can we just go? Please?”

Clint shook his head. “No. You’re both underage and you need medicine. Probably also food and shelter. Where the hell are you guys even staying?” 

“That’s none of your business,” the boy growled and immediately seemed to regret those words.

The girl seemed to catch his hesitation and quickly said, “Besides, we’re both eighteen. You just want to keep us here so that you can call the cops.” 

At which point Bucky did speak up. “No, we don’t. Because trust me, if we did, we already would’ve called the cops.”

“And why should we trust you?” the girl snapped.

“Because we haven’t called the cops yet? Because you don’t have any alternative?”

“We could leave,” the boy pointed out. “I mean, what else? You gonna shoot some kids with a bow and arrow? That’s fucked up. You’re fucked up.”

“I thought you said you weren’t kids,” Steve pointed out.

The boy bristled immediately. “We’re not. It’s just a figure of speech, fucker.”

Bucky involuntarily took a step closer to him at that, his eyes narrowed in response to those words. “I’d advise you not to talk to him like that.” 

The girl whispered something to her brother, her eyes widened with something akin to alarm, and it occurred to Bucky that he’d probably looked a bit more threatening than he’d really intended given that they were kids.

“Please just let us go,” the girl begged, and then doubled over in a coughing fit that was either an excellent job of acting or a sign that she was legitimately sick.

“Look, don’t go,” Clint said, although he lowered his bow. His expression was surprisingly raw and open and Bucky registered that something about this situation must have been affecting Clint more than he would have expected. “You guys obviously aren’t okay and we just want to help.”

“Why do you care about what happens to us?” the girl asked.

“Because I’ve been in your shoes before,” Clint said bluntly. Bucky made a mental note to check in and find out more about that. Judging by Natasha’s reaction, she was thinking the same, since that seemed to be news to her as well, particularly when the girl responded with, “I doubt it” and Clint said, “Don’t be too sure about that.”

“There’s leftover pizza,” Steve pointed out. The siblings shared a quiet conversation that definitely wasn’t in English, although Bucky felt as though he was starting to notice and track patterns in their words. 

Apparently they reached a conclusion given that a moment later the girl nodded and said, “Okay, yeah, we could use food.”

-~-

He positioned her as close to the door as he could, keeping himself right beside her, in order to have a quick escape route if necessary. Despite what they had said to him, he didn’t trust that one of them wouldn’t call the cops while they were in there.

The girl and Robin Hood followed them, which helped ease his worries, although the other two went upstairs and he didn’t quite trust what they might be doing up there, despite that the blonde had offered to feed them. He felt as though he was crawling out of his skin as he waited, trying to fight off the urge to run and balancing that with the fact that his sister was with him and wasn’t in any shape to run.

The two had discussed their options before agreeing and even after they agreed, determining that given the lack of food they had for the moment, food at least would be helpful, and they had no reason to believe they would be betrayed. There was a reason the other hadn’t been truthful, even if truthful didn’t always mean loyal in their experience.

The pizza was good – still somewhat cold but at least there was nutrition and something to fill their stomachs with - and that was a step in the right direction given that they hadn’t had an assured food supply in days. The only reason he was willing to stay was on the off-chance there would be enough food to stabilize himself and his sister, and because maybe staying a little bit longer would be enough to delay anyone calling the cops. After all, if the cops were called, the next contact would be their father and then it would be all be over. 

Still, he was willing to accept everything, keeping an eye on the door, and watching his sister as they ate. His own meal was bare bites, the minimum, because it meant more food for his sister if he could keep his own needs in check.

As his sister focused on the pizza, he offered a smirk at the woman – Nat, he thought, given what he’d heard the others call her – and then regretted the gesture when she asked, “What are your names?”

He glanced at his sister for a moment – noting that any further hesitation would probably be a poor life decision – and said, “Peter. My name’s Peter.”

His sister raised an eyebrow before saying, “And I’m Anna.”

He knew those names weren’t the best, just close enough to their English names to be a problem, but that was the best they could do for the time being and by that point it was already too late to go back and change what they’d said. 

“Well, Peter and Anna, I’m Natasha,” the woman said, her tone skeptical, which confirmed his assumption that those names weren’t fooling anyone. “And this-” she pointed to the archer “-is Clint. It’s nice to meet you.” 

They’d definitely worn out their welcome, as far as he was concerned. He glanced towards his sister and then looked back towards Natasha. “Thanks for the food but we should probably go.”

It was at that point that the other two who’d disappeared upstairs stepped into the room and while he was glad he could keep an eye on everyone now, he also found himself feeling all the more confined and trapped. 

“Where are you staying?” the scrawny blonde one inquired. 

He bristled in response to the question. It was as though the blonde believed they might have changed their minds and been willing to answer personal questions now. He found himself feeling all the more uncomfortable and uneasy.

Before he could come up with an answer to that, his sister easily said, “Around” and shrugged as though the question meant nothing to her. 

He added, “We can take care of ourselves.” 

“Glad to hear it,” the skinny one said and then handed a plastic bag over to his sister before he could intervene. “I still figured you could still probably use this. It’s all the cold care I have. It should help.”

His sister’s fingers closed around the bag and he couldn’t stop himself from warily asking, “You didn’t drug it or something, did you?”

The taller one with the blonde – and for the first time he registered that the taller one had a left hand made entirely out of what appeared to be metal – raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, kid, what the fuck happened to you to make you so goddamn suspicious?”

He recoiled the slightest bit at the question, his body tensing as he tried to figure out how the hell to answer it. There were plenty of things that had happened to him to make him that suspicious but he wasn’t about to talk about that to a room full of strangers.

Before he could formulate a response, the blonde said, “I wouldn’t do that to anyone” in a tone that said he was personally offended by the accusation that he might have done something like drug something he was giving to kids. “It’s just cold medicine. I have some extra on hand. Your sister needs it, I figured I could help you out.”

He managed a grudging, “Thank you” and by that point his sister was on her feet, tugging at his hand to join her as she echoed, “Thank you, but we really should be going.” 

This time, no one stopped them as they made their way towards the door and he kept watch, looking over his shoulder and keeping everyone within eyesight until the front door was unlocked and they could bolt. As soon as they were outside, he grabbed his sister’s hand and broke into a run, not stopping until she was coughing and gasping for breath. By that point, thankfully, the shop was way behind them. If the cops had been called, they wouldn’t be looking here, at least not right away.

As he took inventory of their current situation and belongings, it occurred to him that getting more money anytime soon probably wasn’t going to be in the cards. Hitting the shops in that area of the town would be too dangerous and pulling scams probably wouldn’t do much better. 

His sister was leaning back against the wall of the nearest building, trying to catch her breath. He smoothed her hair back from her face – noting the warm temperature of her skin – and murmured, “You alright?”

She managed a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Look, now we even have medicine and we actually had a full meal tonight, not just scraps. It could’ve been worse. I don’t even think they called the cops.”

He wished he could be that optimistic.

-~-

Clint stood by the door, staring after the two kids long after they’d moved out of sight. He knew he should have stopped them from leaving, but what else were any of them going to do to help those kids at this point? It was evident the two didn’t trust any of them – and he didn’t blame them, whatever had happened that led to them being on the street evidently made them lack any trust in adults – and they’d done what they could without calling the cops.

“We should have gone after them.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until Natasha – who was giving him a questioning, far too understanding look – said, “They would have seen you follow. I don’t think that would have helped.”

“What are they going to do when it gets colder out?” Steve asked, thankfully drawing Natasha’s attention away from Clint.

“Depends on whether or not it’s their first winter on the streets,” Bucky said.

Natasha added, “They were smart enough to break into places without getting caught. That speaks to at least some experience on the street before now.” 

“Hopefully they won’t get arrested in the meantime,” Bucky said with a sigh.

Clint found himself disagreeing because at least if they were arrested, he’d have an idea of where the two kids were.

“Steve, take some Vitamin C,” Natasha recommended as Clint locked up the door and turned off the majority of the lights in the lobby.

Steve frowned. “Why?”

“Because ‘Anna,’ if that’s her name, had a cold and you get sick way too easily.” 

Clint wished Natasha had refrained from asking that question in front of Bucky, given that Bucky’s expression darkened immediately.

Steve looked exasperated. “I’m not gonna get sick and even if I do get sick, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Why are you so broken?” Clint said. It was something to say and hopefully it would provide a distraction for Bucky who might otherwise spend the night awake, watching over Steve for any sign of a cold.

The words had the desired effect of making Bucky bristle and turn his protective mode away from worries of illness and direct it instead towards Clint, which Clint didn’t mind in the slightest, even when Bucky said, “You’re one to talk.” 

Clint just shrugged. That was probably true and he had no argument against it. Besides, he was more concerned with those two kids and where they were staying tonight.

He just hoped they’d be able to keep their heads down and stay out of trouble.


	14. And There Is No Time Like The Present To Drink These Draining Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint reveals as little of his history as he can despite Natasha's questions, Natasha adopts a stray on Clint's behalf, and Bucky remembers how much he hates cats.
> 
> In other words, this is all the calm before the storm that's coming in the next chapter.

“Something you want to tell me about?” 

Clint glanced up in response to Natasha’s question. By this point, he should have been used to her unexpected questions that seemed to come out of nowhere but had probably been on her mind for the past several hours or days or months or years or since she met him. He frowned, trying to think of where this question might be coming from, and after a moment hesitantly offered, “I was the one who finished off the milk, not Barnes.”

“I figured that out already, Clint,” she said drily. “In case you haven’t noticed, James hasn’t exactly been spending a lot of time around here.”

She settled herself on the edge of the couch beside him and draped her arm around his shoulders, her fingers lightly threading through his blonde curls. This was bad. This was really bad. This was the baddest situation he could imagine being in. 

This wasn’t Natasha being affectionate, this was her being comforting. She was preparing to ask him something, something he wasn’t going to want to answer, even if he had no idea where the hell this conversation might be going. Clearly, the best course of action was to stall for time.

“Oh. Great detective work, Nat.”

She continued to stare at him expectantly. He tried to figure out what exactly she wanted him to say. If only Sam had been there, he had no doubt the therapist in training could have translated Natasha-body-language for him. After all, psychology people were practically telepathic, right?

Finally, she said, “About what you said last night. How you’d been in the same position as those kids before. What did you mean by that?”

Clint felt his stomach clench in response to the question but did nothing more than grin innocently back at Natasha. “What’s it to you, Red? I didn’t peg you as the sort to question me on my past.” 

“I’m serious, Clint.” Her tone was concerned, which, if anything, made him feel more uncomfortable. “I could see how much all of that shook you up.” 

He sifted through the possibilities of how he could respond and after several long moments, finally said, “My parents died when I was a kid. Me and my brother hated the foster home we ended up in. The foster parents were…” he paused, the memories moving through his head like a flipbook, and then decided to censor himself. “… not good guys. So we ran away and we were on the street for awhile.”

He didn’t bother to go any further. She didn’t need to know what happened afterwards and how being an orphan and dealing with asshole foster parents ended up being the least of his problems. 

Natasha stared at him for a long moment and he wondered what question would come next. Would she want to know how his parents died? Would she want to know exactly what the foster parents did that made them bad people? Would she want to know what happened to him and his brother once they were on the street? If she did, would he even be willing to tell her?

“You never told me you had a brother,” Natasha finally said and Clint relaxed a bit. That he could handle.

“Never had any reason to,” Clint said with a shrug. “We haven’t talked in years.” 

Natasha nodded, appearing to accept that answer, and then ruffled his hair and rose to her feet. 

“Fair enough.” She extended her hand to him. “C’mon, Barton, we’re going out.”

“Out to where?” he asked somewhat warily, although he accepted her hand and stood as well. 

“To the animal shelter,” she said cheerfully. “I saw how much you wanted to adopt another stray – or strays – with those two kids. So, we’re getting a pet to satisfy that craving.”

“A pet? For me? I think you’re just messing with me, Nat. I think there’s another reason. Are you secretly trying to replace Barnes? Is his absence getting to you that much that you need an animal?” 

Natasha rarely, if ever, made sense but if she wanted them to get a pet, he supposed he wasn’t one to stop her.

Still, he couldn’t help but add, “Y’know, if we’re gonna be parents, we should probably include Sam in the adoption process…”

-~-

The hellspawn was sitting on the steps when Bucky walked into the townhouse. 

In retrospect, he should have realized that something like this would happen. After all, he’d practically been living with Steve recently. The entire townhouse could have undergone redecoration, been the sight of a demon summoning ritual, or burned to the ground and he never would’ve known. As it was, he had noticed quite a few Halloween decorations that had gone up but the sight that greeted him – that ball of fur - was far beyond his worst nightmares.

He would have noticed sooner except that he’d been more intent on unlocking and then relocking the front door and making certain his keys were in the usual place – his front right pocket – so that he wouldn’t forget anything. As a result, he startled and nearly put his metal shoulder through the front door when he turned around and saw the creature sitting on the steps in front of him.

It was small – he could probably have picked it up in one hand – and fluffy and black but he refused to let the size fool him. He’d been fooled before, after all. He stepped forward warily with the type of care he’d normally reserve for being around live rounds and then leapt back – and, oww, that was his shoulder hitting the door again - as the thing moved.

And by moved, he definitely meant attempted to hop down to the next step on the way to ground level and instead ended up falling down the rest of them. Bucky kept his back to the door as he watched the entity stare up at him with confusion.

He was so not the person to be dealing with this situation.

“Natasha, what the hell is this thing?” 

“What the hell is what thing?” she called back from somewhere in the living room or kitchen area.

A moment later she stepped into view, followed close behind by Clint, and hurried over to the black ball of fluff. She scooped it into her hand with far more care than Bucky thought the animal deserved.

“Did he fall down the stairs again?” she asked. Bucky made a mental note to follow up on the use of the word ‘again.’ 

“Since when has this thing been here?” Bucky looked specifically to Clint. “Clint, we talked about this. We talked about the fact that we don’t let Natasha have cats.”

“We did?” Clint looked quite unconcerned. “I must have turned my hearing aids off. I do that sometimes when I don’t want to bother listening to conversations. Keeps life interesting.”

“Sam wasn’t the voice of reason either?” Bucky asked plaintively. “I told him about Kisa.” 

“Sam wasn’t with us,” Clint explained. “I was the only other one involved in the adoption process.”

“Kisa was my baby,” Natasha said, scratching the black ball of fluff in her hand behind the ears. “I loved that cat.”

“That cat was a sadist and I’m pretty sure she’s the reason your father no longer has an eye,” Bucky retorted, continuing to keep his distance from the kitten.

“Kisa did not take my father’s eye,” Natasha said serenely. “She wouldn’t have done that and if she had, my father certainly wouldn’t have let me keep her.” 

“That’s how terrifying that cat was,” Bucky explained to Clint. “Her badass terrifying father let the creature stay even after she removed his eye and ate it in front of him.”

“Kisa did not eat my father’s eye and my father loved her,” Natasha countered. “That cat was my welcome to America present from him after he adopted me.”

“That cat had a taste for human blood, my blood in particular,” Bucky grumbled. “She would claw the shit out of my legs and then sit there, licking the blood off of her claws.”

“She was precious,” Natasha said. “Don’t worry, Clint, James is just biased.”

“Have you named this one yet?” Bucky asked bitterly. “Is this one ‘Kisa’ too or have you gotten more creative with names?”

“First of all, there was nothing wrong with Kisa’s name,” Natasha said. “Second of all, no, I didn’t name him Kisa.”

“What’s uncreative about ‘Kisa’?” Clint inquired.

“You wanna tell him or should I?” Bucky asked, unable to help the grin that crossed his lips in response to the question.

Natasha exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Kisa means ‘kitten’ in Russian. So what? I was a child who barely knew English, I’d just come to a new country, and my adoptive father was nice enough to get me a pet. I thought I was being quite clever.” 

By that point, Bucky had resigned himself to the fact that they had another roommate in the townhouse. “So what’s this one’s name?” 

“Koschei,” Natasha said, and kissed the top of the furball’s head.

“Koschei,” Bucky repeated. “You named a cat who can’t even walk down the stairs without falling on his face after Koschei?” 

“Who is Koschei?” Clint asked, looking confused.

“As in The Death of Koschei the Deathless,” Bucky said. “It’s a Russian fairy tale.” 

“He’s not always going to do things like fall down the stairs,” Natasha said, sounding quite unconcerned. “He’s still a baby. You’ll get used to him.”

Bucky resigned himself to the situation. “Just please keep him out of my room, especially when I’m in there. On top of using my blood to summon demons, Kisa enjoyed trying to suffocate me during the night.”

“Kisa never tried to suffocate you but I can do that,” Natasha promised. “You’ll learn to love him, just like you learned to love Kisa.” At which point she frowned and glanced over at Clint. “Make sure nothing in the kitchen is burning.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said obediently and disappeared down the hall.

“I never learned to love Kisa,” Bucky pointed out but he reached out to cautiously run a finger along the top of the fluffball’s head. “I guess I should stop by more often to see what other things are changing here.”

“Speaking of which, what brought you back here today?” Natasha asked, and he caught her studying his face intently. “Everything alright?” 

He curbed a flash of frustration, given that he knew Natasha was only invested in his well-being, even if he wished he could be viewed as a normal, functioning person rather than a ticking time bomb constantly on the verge of exploding. 

“Everything’s fine. There’s a guest speaker doing a lecture at Corcoran tonight and Steve was required to go for one of his classes so I figured I’d come back here, see how you were doing, and make sure you hadn’t rented out my room to someone else before heading back. But things are good. Steve’s doing well but is going a little stir crazy because he’s still got a couple weeks before the splints come off of his fingers. Won’t be happening in time for Halloween and he won’t be medically cleared to return to work until he’s gone through physical therapy but at least the end’s in sight.”

“What about you?” she asked, and he fought back the urge to sigh. He knew she had a reason to be concerned about him, she always did, but he wished she could accept that sometimes he was capable of handling life.

“I’ve been… better overall. Some days are better than others. Sometimes I push myself too hard still. It helps that it’s been quiet since those kids broke in and Clint’s been helping out around Shield a lot too.”

Natasha’s relief was barely disguised and Bucky considered informing her that her mask was slipping. Though that realization made him more concerned about her, given that she’d always been the one with a greater sense of self-control and ability to handle any situation thrown at her.

“But I’m good,” he continued. “Everything’s going well with Steve. I haven’t gotten scared off. I haven’t scared him off. I’ve been more social. Even though it’s a couple weeks away still, Clint mentioned the Halloween party and we’re considering going.”

“Good,” she murmured and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Bucky considered recoiling, given the close proximity of Koschei and his history with Kisa, but he figured Natasha might take that the wrong way. “If you two make it to the party, we’ll look forward to seeing you there. Are the two of you going for a couple’s Halloween costume?”

“Not at all. I have no idea what I’m going to dress up as and Darcy keeps telling Steve to do Edward Scissorhands, but he’s refusing so far. We’re open to any ideas, just as long as we can veto them.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” Natasha said with a grin that immediately made Bucky regret his decision to make that offer. “For now, I’m going to insist that you stay for dinner and bring back some leftovers for Steve. I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too,” Bucky murmured.

Clint called from the kitchen, “What am I, Nat? Chopped liver?”

“No one uses that expression anymore, Clint,” Natasha said calmly, turning to face him. “And, no, you’re my archer.” 

Bucky followed after her, feeling the slightest sense of sadness. He forced himself to review his thoughts to see if he could figure out what had brought on that emotion – after all, as he’d just explained to Natasha, things had been going well with him – and it only took him a moment to recognize that the townhouse felt less like home than Steve’s apartment and Shield did.

For as happy as he was with his progress, he felt as though he’d left part of himself behind.


	15. Gonna Take Out The Gunman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky finds out the identity of Steve's assailant and takes matters into his own hands in a fairly disastrous manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that graphic violence warning is pretty relevant for this chapter.
> 
> Also, I feel like I have enough of a sense of where each chapter from here on out is going to have tentatively set the expected number of chapters until completion. We'll see if my prediction ends up being accurate.

Over the two weeks following the break-in at Shield, Bucky couldn’t get the kids – and then the new cat in Natasha’s townhouse – out of his head. The newspaper reported a sudden decrease in break-ins, which he was grateful to see. As much as he didn’t want those two kids on the street, he also didn’t want to see them behind bars. As for Koschei, Bucky was grateful that his time was now spent almost exclusively at Steve’s apartment.

“C’mon, Robocop, we should all do lunch together, you me, Steve, and Clint. Natasha and Sam too if they don’t have classes,” Darcy pressed. “I know Jane’s working the mid-day shift today and I haven’t seen her properly in weeks and I miss her. It’ll be fun. Besides, I need all of the dirt on her and the blonde god she’s now dating.” 

“I’m not protesting,” Bucky said with a grin and he was pleased to realize that was an accurate statement. 

A month ago, the thought of going out to lunch at the height of that one precious hour off that always led to the restaurants and coffee shops in the area being packed would have been far too much for him to manage. Now, he didn’t even feel his anxiety spike. Just a week ago Dr. Jones asked how he felt about switching to biweekly sessions instead of weekly ones and he’d realized that if anything the change felt welcome because taking the time off to get to the sessions each week was becoming more difficult and more of a distraction as he settled into the work routine.

“I’ll give Nat a call,” Clint offered.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll see if Steve’s willing to take a break from his homework.”

“I’ll flip the sign on the door and lock up,” Darcy said.

Clint had stepped into the back office by that point, while Bucky was almost at the stairs when the front door opened and a man stepped inside. His hair was dark and close cropped and if Bucky had to estimate, he was probably on the older end of the college spectrum but still evidently a student given the G.W. t-shirt he was wearing.

“This a bad time?” he asked. “I know the hours change here sometimes but I figured since I was in the area, I’d stop by and check it out.” 

Darcy, who had been a step away from flipping the sign to closed and locking the door, looked like she wanted to groan but pleasantly inquired, “What were you coming in to get done?”

“Eyebrow piercing,” the man said and Bucky took that as his cue to step forward. 

“We’re open and I can do it.” 

As much as he’d have preferred to go out with the others – and since when did he actually prefer to be out in public? – his client load over the past couple days had been a little low and he figured with the lack of commissioned tattoos being completed until Steve was cleared to return to work, he couldn’t exactly afford to turn down an opportunity to complete a job.

“You sure?” Darcy asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you, Steve, and Clint go ahead. Just bring something back for me. Otherwise Steve and Natasha will lecture me for not taking care of myself.”

“I can always come back later,” the man said quickly.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s up to you but I’m more than happy to do it now. I don’t mind.” 

“Only if you’re sure,” the man said, although there were no further protests as Darcy offered to get him checked-in and let him start on the paperwork. 

Bucky took the opportunity to head upstairs, where he found Steve sitting in front of his computer. A glance at the screen revealed he was working on an essay and Bucky had to admit, as he watched him, that Steve’s mastery over his make-shift method of utilizing a pencil to hit the keys definitely improved since the first few days of the injuries to his hands. He was engrossed in the process enough that he didn’t look over his shoulder at Bucky until he’d completed a final two paragraphs.

Not that Bucky minded. He was more than happy to sit beside Steve and watch him work. Of course, he was even happier when Steve abandoned his project for the time being and turned to Bucky and pressed a kiss to his lips.

One kiss led to another and another and several minutes had gone by before Bucky realized that 1) he was two seconds away from moving this activity towards the couch or bed – whichever he could reach more quickly - and 2) he was going to have to do some major readjustment to certain parts of his anatomy in order to be presentable to return downstairs to his appointment. He reluctantly pulled back.

“Hey there,” Steve murmured by way of an extremely delayed greeting. A smirk curved his lips and he leaned against Bucky’s side before nestling his head against Bucky’s shoulder and nuzzling against Bucky’s throat, which did nothing for Bucky’s heart rate and other assorted physiological reactions. “I guess I missed you.” 

“Mm, sounds like we’re getting a little codependent seeing as it’s only been a couple hours since you last saw me,” Bucky said. “My therapist would have a lot to say about that.” He inhaled sharply as Steve’s teeth scraped against his skin. “Not that I don’t mind the distraction but I’ve got a client waiting for me downstairs and Clint and Darcy are preparing to kidnap you off to lunch.” 

“While you stay here?” Steve frowned. “You sure? We could just put lunch off for another hour.”

“Negative. Darcy and Clint have afternoon classes and you know how Darcy gets when she doesn’t have enough time to properly eat lunch. Plus she’s looking forward to getting the dirt on Jane’s relationship with Thor. All I’m asking is that you bring something back for me so I don’t starve.” 

“I suppose I can do that,” Steve said with a grin. “As long as you didn’t have a pressing urge to hear about Jane’s love life.” 

“I think I can live without that.” Bucky reluctantly disentangled himself from Steve. “You should probably hurry up before Darcy and Clint leave you here with me.”

Still, despite his words, he couldn’t help snagging one more kiss that led to another and it was another five minutes – four spent kissing, one spent with both Bucky and Steve attempting to make themselves presentable before rejoining the others – before they were downstairs. Much as Bucky predicted, Darcy and Clint were waiting at the door.

Clint smirked. “You’ve got some nice sex hair going, Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and said, “Please, I was just helping Steve with his paper.”

Darcy laughed out loud in response. “Barnes, that’s gotta be an innuendo. I’m sorry, I’m with Clint here.” 

Steve didn’t waste another moment before joining Clint and Darcy at the door and doing his best to herd them outside before any further statements regarding their sex life could be made in front of the customer. 

“I’ll grab your usual?” he questioned, once Clint and Darcy were officially on the safer side of the doorway and Bucky nodded.

At which point he turned back to the man sitting on the couch, mindful of the expression on his face and scanning it for any sign that there might have been a poor reaction to the insinuation as to his and Steve’s relationship. The man seemed fairly un-phased, which Bucky was relieved to see because he wasn’t entirely certain he was mentally prepared to be dealing with any homophobic bullshit at this point.

“Let me look over your paperwork and then we’ll head back to the office,” Bucky said.

The man nodded. “You’re running the show here. Just let me know what to do and I’ll do it.” 

Bucky quickly scanned through the documents, noting that the consent forms were signed, dated, and witnessed. A review of the copy of the license indicated that the man’s name was Brock Rumlow and judging by the age listed, Bucky guessed he was a super senior since he didn’t seem the sort to be in a graduate program. With everything in order, Bucky slipped the paperwork into a file, added the first and last name to the tab, and paused long enough to ask one question. 

“You have a preference for whether I use your first name or last name?” 

One of the early tricks he’d been taught was to know his client’s name, which was particularly helpful when a client became overwhelmed or anxious during the process. While he doubted Brock would have any difficulties with an eyebrow piercing, Bucky’d also seen hardcore bikers nearly pass out in his office during a piercing before, so he did his best not to judge a book by the cover and assume that anyone might have some difficulty with the piercing process until otherwise proven.

“Rumlow works. I’m on the soccer team and we tend to go by last names there.” 

“Alright then, Rumlow, ready to head on back?” Bucky inquired.

Upon receiving an affirmative response to that, he led the way back to his office and motioned for Rumlow to take a seat on the piercing table. Bucky washed his hands at the sink and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Even with the glove in the extra-large category, he still had some difficulty pulling it over his metal hand without breaking it and while he struggled with that, Rumlow took the opportunity to ask a question.

“So… should I ask about the hand or is that a sensitive subject?” 

Bucky shrugged, admittedly somewhat grateful that with the cooler weather the majority of the arm was covered, but given how many times he’d heard that question or variants thereof, he wasn’t particularly thrown off by it. “Arm, actually, and no, not at all. I’m a vet. Lost my arm over in Iraq. Lucked out and got the latest Stark tech prosthetic when I came back. That’s about it.” 

“Holy shit.” Rumlow sounded rather impressed. “That’s a hell of a lot to go through. What got you into this line of work?” 

Bucky automatically gathered his materials together; double-checking that he’d grabbed the 16-gauge needle, as well as the set of forceps and the skin marker.

“Before I shipped out for basic, I’d gone through the necessary certifications and licensure for piercing and spent a couple of months working in a shop. When I was ready to go back into the workforce, it just seemed natural to keep on with the line of employment I’d had before. I’d liked the environment and co-workers back in New York, hoped I’d feel the same way about the ones here.”

“Just judging by your interaction with them earlier, I’m gonna guess that’s the case.”

“You’d be right,” Bucky agreed. “How about you? This the first time you’ve been in one of these places?” 

He hadn’t noticed any evident tattoos or piercings but that didn’t mean anything. After all, he hadn’t thought Steve had any body art on him and had been proven wrong. Same with Darcy, which he’d found out during a rather unfortunate game of Truth or Dare a few nights back. Finding out that Darcy had several interesting piercings was only the tip of the iceberg; he’d also learned far more about Sam, Clint, and Natasha’s relationship than he ever wanted to know, as well as a few interesting facts about Steve, even if Steve chose dare over truth 99.9% of the time.

“Nah, man,” Rumlow said with a laugh. “I mean, I haven’t come in for a piercing before but I’ve got a couple tattoos. One on my back, one on my ankle.”

Bucky was in the process of setting up his materials, opening the package of the needle and getting the barbell set up as well, when Rumlow pulled up his jeans a few inches, revealing the patch of skin above his sneaker. 

Revealing the skull and crossbones tattooed there. The same one Bucky recognized from the detailed drawing the sketch artist had made following Steve’s assault. The same one that was the only clue Steve could provide to the officers about his assailant.

-~-

With the length of line at the coffee shop, Steve had no doubt Darcy would be hanging out at one of the tables until Jane was free in an hour or so once the crowd died down. For his part, his attention was still on Bucky and he couldn’t shake a strange sense of unease that seemed primarily linked to the fact that he’d left Bucky on his own. He tried to rationalize his thought process, noting that this was the first time he’d left Bucky alone in the shop and given Bucky’s mental and physical issues, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if something might happen while they were gone. What if he had a panic attack? What if he passed out? What if the client was a homophobic asshole who gave Bucky hell for the comments Clint and Darcy made on the way out?

He came back to the present when Clint nudged him. “What’s on your mind, Rogers?”

“I was just thinking that I’d grab my food and the sandwich for Bucky to go,” Steve said, even if he hadn’t come to that conclusion until that exact moment. “I figure we shouldn’t leave him alone for any length of time and besides, Darcy’s probably not leaving here until classes start.”

Clint nodded, though he seemed unconcerned. “Works for me. I figure I’ll come back with you. I realized I forgot to leave Lucky with a fresh bowl of food.”

There was the unspoken comment that no one was letting Steve walk on his own still at this point.

Steve felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, even if the nagging sense of unease hadn’t fully abated. 

He tapped Darcy on the shoulder. “Hey, Darce? You mind if we head back early to bring Bucky his food?”

Darcy shook her head. “Not at all. I’ll just grab a table and keep drinking coffee until I can pick Jane’s brain about her muscled stud of a boyfriend.” 

“Nat’s still on her way,” Clint said. “She just got out of class, so I’ll let her know to meet us back at Shield.” 

Steve nodded, finding himself increasingly restless, as the line seemed to take forever. Each successive minute ticked off the clock kept him away from the shop for that much longer.

-~-

Bucky’s mind shut down – he couldn’t think, he couldn’t get anything other than that image out of his head – but somehow his body kept moving. He felt trapped inside, an observer as his limbs went through the familiar movements, opening the skin marker and marking the area he’d insert the needle, reaching for the forceps and sterilized needle. He dimly registered that somehow, despite the fact that he couldn’t think clearly, he was talking and his talking must have been normal because Rumlow didn’t seem to realize just how wrong things were going at that point.

He tried to remember the last time he’d experienced something like this – a sense of his mind and body being completely disconnected but still been inside and watching – and he registered that hadn’t happened in months and never like this because nothing had ever triggered him the way the sight of that tattoo had.

The needle was through Rumlow’s eyebrow, the forceps placed back on the tray, when an image of Steve’s splinted fingers, combined with the remembrance of the twisted mess of Steve’s broken fingers, yanked Bucky back into his body. His anger – cold, blind rage – spiked before he could even recognize what was happening and any coherent thoughts crossed his mind to tell him not to do this, to ask him what the hell he was planning, to remind him of the consequences.

His flesh and blood fingers closed around the needle, the sharp edge digging in his hand – and that was a health code violation and potential infection risk he ever saw one – and then he yanked.

Rumlow screamed in pain and struck out blindly at Bucky; what else could he do given that there was blood pouring into his eye? Bucky easily blocked the blow. His mind was working again, encouraging him to continue the attack, but there was an element of rationality as he was reminded again and again to refrain from using his metal arm, that his metal arm could cause irreparable damage and probably even death. 

Rumlow lunged off the table at him and Bucky found it far too easy to step aside, using Rumlow’s own momentum against him and throwing him against the side of the sterilizing machine. He knew he should follow up while Rumlow was down – except that he shouldn’t, he should stop this here and now before things went further – but this was the man who hurt Steve for no reason, the one who damaged the person he loved, and he wasn’t about to end this attack before it even really started.

His body was still moving, still acting on orders, and he grabbed Rumlow by the collar of the shirt with his flesh and blood arm, intent on dragging him to his feet because there were still ways he could hurt him, so many different ways.

Maybe he’d misjudged Rumlow. After all, the man had attacked Steve from behind, which meant Bucky had no doubt he could take him down without much trouble.

In retrospect, he probably should have thought that through more clearly. He wasn’t prepared for a scuffle or a fight. He wasn’t prepared for Rumlow to grab his arm and before Bucky could determine how to respond – not by fighting back with his metal arm, not with that, his mind whispered to him – Rumlow twisted and jerked the limb in his hands with an audible snap. Then the pain hit, brutal and crippling, and his knees all but buckled as his mind supplied blind, terrified panic as he wondered if his only remaining arm had been damaged and would be gone because he couldn’t cope with having that arm taken from him too. He was unresisting, still too shocked and pained to react, when Rumlow grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the edge of the sterilizing machine. 

He felt the hair rip from his scalp and then there was pain exploding across his head and his vision was alternating between red and black and he felt something inside of him snap. 

He struck out with his metal arm – and there was a reason he shouldn’t do that but he couldn’t remember why anymore, especially since his right arm was hanging at an odd angle and he could only categorize that limb as useless for the moment – and felt the satisfying reverberation as it caught the man – and what was that man’s name and why were they fighting? – in the jaw and he fell back. The answer to that second question popped into his head – they were fighting because that man hurt Steve – and he followed after, crouching over him. 

He could see the man’s lips moving but there was no sound, at least none he could hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. Although his vision had cleared somewhat, his face felt sticky and there were red spots partially obscuring his right eye. He looked at the man’s face, then at his metal hand, and then back at the man’s face.

He brought his fist down once, twice, feeling bones crack beneath the metal, watching as the man’s jaw visibly shifted to one side following the first blow and how his nose burst into a fountain of red following the second.

He drew his fist back once more.

-~-

“Nat should be here any minute,” Clint noted as Steve unlocked the door to the shop and stepped inside, although Steve was barely listening because it was already evident that something was wrong.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the shop was that Lucky wasn’t in her usual place behind the register. Clint whistled for her and was rewarded with a low whine coming from the hallway. 

The second thing Steve registered were the sounds coming from Bucky’s office.

By that point, Clint had hurried into the hallway. Steve heard him asking Lucky what was wrong. Steve wished the dog could provide an answer and his anxiety spiked as he stepped past Clint and lightly knocked on the door. There was no response but there was a sound like meat being tenderized, a groan, and Steve threw the door open just in time to find himself stopped in his tracks.

The office was in complete disarray, with red – blood – splattered over the floor. Bucky was on his knees, crouched over his client, and both Bucky and the man were bleeding from the head. The difference was that the man’s face was broken and swollen, and his body was limp beneath Bucky. Not that that seemed to make a difference in the course of Bucky’s actions given that Bucky raised his metal fist and there was no question that he intended to bring it down on the man’s face, most likely not for the first time.

He was going to kill him, of that Steve had no doubt. There was a blankness to Bucky’s expression, yet enough of an emotion that Steve could only categorize as homicidal in his eyes that Steve could not believe he was capable of thinking through his actions and the consequences. 

Clint gasped, “What the fuck?” but Steve was already in movement.

He caught Bucky’s arm between his own before Bucky could bring his fist down and tried to yank him back. Bucky resisted but made no attempt to strike out at Steve.

“Bucky, it’s me. Bucky, please, stop, you have to stop,” he pleaded. “Just focus on me.”

By that point, Clint had reached Bucky’s other side and grabbed his right arm to help Steve restrain him. Steve considered asking Clint to back off, uncertain of whether the additional restraint might be triggering to Bucky. The moment Clint applied pressure to Bucky’s arm, Bucky screamed, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp against Steve. 

“Fuck, Clint, don’t touch his arm, it could be broken,” Steve gasped, attempting to steady Bucky’s limp form. 

Clint had already released his grip on Bucky’s arm and instead went to help Steve pull Bucky back, away from the man. Steve cursed the fact that he couldn’t even use his hands to help. Clint managed to get Bucky half-sprawled in Steve’s arms and then went straight back to the man, his fingers going to his wrist to check the pulse, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief when he saw some of the tension leave Clint’s shoulders. Good, if nothing else, at least Bucky hadn’t killed the man, not that Steve could even begin to comprehend what might have triggered him to this level of violence. 

That wasn’t something to worry about for the moment though. Steve was more concerned with the wound on Bucky’s forehead – he was pretty sure that a significant head injury to a person who already had been diagnosed with head trauma probably wasn’t a good thing – and the fact that Bucky’s eyes were open and unfocused.

“Bucky,” Steve murmured. “Bucky, it’s okay. Just breathe. Tell me what happened? What did this guy do to you?”

“Not me,” Bucky mumbled. “He… he hurt you.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced back at the man, not seeing anything familiar in the face – though that was hard to gauge given that most of the face was broken and bruised.

“I’ve never met him before, Bucky,” Steve said softly. “He’s never hurt me. What made you think he had?”

Clint was on his feet, his cell phone in his hand, and Steve had no doubt he was in the process of calling an ambulance to the shop.

“The tattoo,” Bucky murmured. “Crossbones.”

Steve’s blood felt like ice in his veins as the image of that tattoo – the one could see so clearly in his mind, in spite of the fact that he’d been struck for a second time in the head a few moments later – and everything inside of him rebelled against the thought that the individual who’d hurt him that badly would have had the audacity to walk into his shop for a piercing.

“He was the one who attacked me?” He hoped that Bucky would tell him that no, he was wrong, there was another reason for Bucky’s assault on him. 

There was no such luck given that Bucky’s only somewhat broken response was, “He hurt you… so I hurt him.” 

Steve refused to let his thoughts or the conversation go any further in that direction because he had no doubt he wouldn’t be able to remain focused on Bucky and Bucky’s current condition if he did. Instead, he moved his eyes along Bucky’s body and immediately felt sick when he noted that Bucky’s right arm was twisted at an impossible-looking angle and there was blood seeping through the material of his long-sleeved shirt. He reached for the sleeve, intent on checking the injury further, only to realize that with his splinted fingers, there was no possibility of that happening, particularly without most likely causing Bucky significant pain.

He settled on asking, “Can you tell me what’s hurt besides your arm?” 

Bucky miserably said, “Don’t know. Can’t tell.”

“It’ll be okay, Buck. Clint’s calling an ambulance. We’ll get you fixed up. You’ll be just fine.” 

The look in Bucky’s eyes in response to the mention of an ambulance was horrible, scared and vulnerable and heartbreakingly terrified, and Steve tried to figure out what, if anything, he could say to comfort him.

Thankfully, Clint took that moment to step inside the room and this time Natasha was with him. Her expression was more controlled than Steve ever could have imagined his own had been in response to the scene, and she knelt down beside Bucky and rested a hand on his left shoulder. 

“Oh, James,” she murmured. Steve caught her expression break, just for an instant, before the mask was back in place and she was utterly composed again. “Clint mentioned your arm was injured. Would you mind if I checked it out?”

“No.” Bucky’s voice was faint and thin and Steve checked to make sure he was still relatively awake and aware. 

Natasha carefully rolled up the sleeve, though even the smallest, most careful movements made the color drain from Bucky’s face that much more. While Steve didn’t want to look and see the damage, he couldn’t stop himself. Immediately he wished he hadn’t, as his stomach lurched and he fought the urge to be sick. Bucky’s forearm had been snapped and either the initial injury or Clint’s attempt to restrain him had been enough to force one of the edges of bone out of the skin. 

Natasha’s composure slipped again and she cursed. “Christ, James, they’re going to need to reset this.” 

Steve fought the urge to point out that surgery was likely to be necessary. Given Bucky’s response already to the mention of an ambulance, he couldn’t imagine Bucky would cope any more effectively with the mention of surgery. Even without that, Bucky’s face paled all the more, particularly when there was the clear sound of sirens moving towards their location.

“Yeah, I figured,” was all he said by way of response. 

Steve tried to be reassuring. “They’ll give you medicine first. You won’t even feel it. It won’t be so bad.”

“I’m not afraid of the pain,” Bucky said hollowly. “I can live through pain. I have before.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Natasha asked. Steve had the sense she was more intent on keeping Bucky focused and talking since she knew him well enough to know what would make him worry with that situation.

“I don’t like doctors. I don’t like being drugged and cut open. I don’t like any of it.”

“You won’t be alone,” Steve promised. “I’ll be right there with you and so will Natasha. Nothing bad will happen.” 

Bucky looked most decidedly unconvinced but was spared having to respond given that the sirens cut off and Clint stepped out of the room to lead the EMTs inside the building. Natasha combed her fingers through Bucky’s hair, trying to keep him calm, and Steve offered whatever comforting words he could manage to keep Bucky awake and focused and hopefully from freaking out.

Still, Bucky tensed when the EMTs stepped into the room, with one immediately going to the prone man on the floor, and the other walking over to him. Natasha tightened her grip on Bucky’s shoulder the slightest bit, preventing him from recoiling as the other EMT approached. The look in Bucky’s eyes shifted from fear to an almost trapped animal level of terror and he snarled at the EMT, who stopped in his tracks and glanced towards Natasha and Steve, almost as though he was asking them how to proceed. 

Natasha seemed better equipped to handle this type of situation. “He’s a veteran. He’s uncomfortable around doctors.” 

Steve took the opportunity to focus entirely on Bucky and gently said, “He just wants to examine your injuries. Will you let him do that? He’s not going to hurt you, he only wants to help.”

From where his hands still rested against Bucky’s body, Steve could feel him trembling, but Bucky managed to choke out, “Yeah, sure, of course.” 

The EMT had barely touched Bucky when his eyes unfocused completely and Bucky checked out. Steve’s heart clenched – and he hoped and prayed his body hadn’t decided to give him a heart attack in response to the stress – because the last time he’d seen that expression in Bucky’s eyes, it had been after the first time he kissed him. He looked to Natasha for guidance in how to proceed and what to do because this time Bucky wasn’t even talking to him or responding to anything and he’d never seen him quite that bad before.

Natasha reached for Bucky’s metal hand and murmured his name. A slight frown crossed her lips when Bucky didn’t respond to the physical or verbal stimuli.

She glanced back at Steve. “It’s bad but I’ve seen him worse. Don’t worry, I know what to do. For the moment, it’s probably kinder to leave him like this.”

The EMT didn’t look particularly comfortable with Bucky’s lack of responsiveness and after a few moments of attempting to elicit a response and examining the visible injuries, he informed Steve and Natasha that they would be bringing Bucky to the hospital. Natasha immediately informed him that she was Bucky’s sister and requested to ride with him. Even without any proof she could provide for those claims, the EMT seemed inclined to believe her, if for no other reason that at that point Natasha was the only person who seemed to have the first idea of how to handle Bucky in this state. 

Steve looked away from Bucky for a moment, long enough to see that the man Bucky had attacked was already on a stretcher and being transported out to the ambulance. “It’ll be okay, Buck. I’ll ride with Clint. We’ll be right behind you.” 

Bucky looked rather heartbroken at that – and that was somewhat comforting given that at least it was an emotion and a facial expression that Steve could read, rather than the recent blankness – but Steve felt guilty for causing that look.

Natasha added, “I’ll be right beside you the entire time, James.”

Steve watched helplessly as the EMT returned with a stretcher, gently guiding Bucky onto it, and Bucky’s expression started to shut down once again. At the same time, Steve could see Bucky’s breathing increase, though he knew enough to recognize that the breaths were shallow and rapid, definitely not conductive to maintaining proper respiration. He fought back the urge to follow after him – after all, he wasn’t the one who was a ‘family member’ like Natasha – and as much as he hated to admit it, he legitimately had no idea what to do to help Bucky at this point.

“Take care of him,” he told Natasha. 

“I always do,” she promised. “We’ll see you at the hospital.” 

The stretcher was halfway to the door when Bucky seemed to reorient, given that he suddenly yelled, “No, wait!” and the EMT stopped short.

Steve scrambled to his feet and hurried over. “Yeah, Buck? What’s wrong?”

Bucky managed a shaky, brittle grin, and all he said was, “Love you, Steve.” 

Steve felt a bit of the tension leave his body. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.” 

Natasha walked with Bucky out to the ambulance. Steve tried to keep a tighter hold on his thoughts as they went into directions he would have preferred they hadn’t. He should have learned more about what to do when Bucky was triggered this severely. He should have insisted on riding along in the ambulance with him. If his fingers weren’t still splinted and he weren’t broken, he could have offered Bucky comfort and taken care of him, rather than relying on Natasha for all of the help.

There were a lot of things he should have done but none he’d been able to do.

All he could do was try to do better from here on out.


	16. Clearly I Remember From the Windows They Were Watching While We Froze Down Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are some answers to the question of what repercussions Bucky's actions may have for him and the others (in other words, wherein Bucky copes poorly, Steve realizes that he doesn't know the difference between an asthma attack and a panic attack, and Natasha nears her own breaking point).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the cliffhanger of the last ending is not even close to being resolved in this chapter. However, I can tell you that the next chapter - which includes much more of a resolution - is written, in the editing process, and should be posted by the end of the weekend.

Natasha couldn’t get Bucky’s look of utter desperation out of her mind. But that wasn’t the worst part; the worst was that he almost looked betrayed as they wheeled him away. She tried every technique she could think of, deep breathing, counting to ten, even pulled from the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Game. Nothing cleared the image from behind her eyes. She saw it every time she tried to forget where she was and shut the world out by closing her eyes or blinking, and found the image superimposed on the backs of her eyelids. 

She’d tried to argue with the doctors, explaining that Bucky was a veteran and had a history of the diagnoses of PTSD and TBI, and used that as a justification for why she should be allowed to stay with him throughout the testing. Naturally, they refused, citing that she could not be present for the x-rays and scans. They assured her they would take good care of him.

They’d better. Natasha would find ways of hurting them if they didn’t.

She’d barely kept Bucky there and present and with her on the ride over in the ambulance. It hadn’t helped that the EMTs had to readjust their usual methods of taking his vitals and setting up an IV drip, given that his right arm was a broken, shattered mess and his left arm was made of metal and not exactly conducive to checking his pulse or inserting an IV. The end result had been to wait on the IV for the time being, given the length of time the ambulance ride took, and the fact that everyone – from Natasha to the ETMs to Bucky himself – was fully aware that he would need surgery on that arm. Therefore the administration of painkillers would need to be carefully monitored.

She felt sick at the remembrance of the damage done to his arm. She felt sicker when she thought of the head injury and how bad things might be now. Everything she’d ever read on TBI had focused on the extreme dangers associated with future additional injury. Bucky already struggled so much, how bad might things get if he got worse? What might that do to the quality of his life?

She’d become so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when a hand rested on her shoulder and Clint murmured her name. She glanced up and found his gaze gentle but concerned. She fixed a smile on her face automatically.

“Hey, Clint,” she said softly. “You too, Steve,” she added as she noticed that the blonde had already taken the seat beside her. 

“How is he? What did they say? Is he going to be alright? When can I see him?” Steve asked all of the questions in a rush. His breathing was ragged and uneven. 

“He was coping,” she said, in an attempt to address each question one at a time. “They’re taking him back for tests. They wouldn’t let anyone go with him. I don’t know when they’ll let us back. It might be before the surgery, it might be after. Either way, with that bone sticking out of his skin, the surgery’s going to need to happen sooner rather than later. With that risk of infection, they won’t stall if at all possible.”

By the time she finished speaking, she could hear Steve wheezing. “Do you have your inhaler, Steve?” Although his jaw jutted out defensively, he nodded and she added, “Then use it.”

Despite the rebelliousness radiating off of him, Steve tugged the inhaler out of his pocket. A few puffs later, he was breathing at a normal rate again. Natasha fought back the urge to rest her head back against the wall and close her eyes. Shutting everything out wasn’t an option at this point.

A light touch brushed against her shoulder again and she reached up to cover Clint’s hand with her own. Rather than say anything, she merely squeezed his fingers lightly and focused on taking several deep, calming breaths. 

She had to hold it together, just for a little longer. Once she knew Bucky was alright – and that Steve was also stable enough to take care of him - she could take the time to focus on herself.

-~- 

There was something utterly and completely disorienting and terrifying about waking up, if that was what he could call it. This wasn’t waking up; this was being jerked back into his body, with no sense of why or how he left in the first place.

He couldn’t open his eyes but the rest of his senses were active. He could hear machines beeping around him. He could smell antiseptic. He could feel the rough, starched sheets under his body.

But he couldn’t feel his right arm. There was an absence of sensation – he’d felt that before, and, oh Jesus Christ, he knew what that lack of feeling meant – and even though he still couldn’t pry open his eyelids, his body reacted instinctively.

Or tried to, at the least, given that the moment he tried to jerk upright or sideways or just move because he couldn’t just remain stationary when his heart rate was spiking and everything in his body was telling him that he needed to run, he found himself stopped by something holding his left arm secure and immobile.

The machines beeped and alarms went off and there were voices all around him – _calm down, breathe, you have to calm down, you have to open your eyes_ – and someone was screaming but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. He had to get free. His arm was strong enough – it was metal and durable – and he couldn’t understand what could be keeping him locked in place. 

There was a weight on his legs and he kicked out automatically – _he’s ripped out the IV, get him sedated_ \- and then struck out again as the weight pinning his legs down increased. He barely felt the needle enter his skin but the burn of the drugs that followed, that he felt. Within moments, the strength left his still working – and remaining – limbs and in the background, the beeping from the machines evened out.

“Please,” he begged and then he couldn’t remember what he was begging for because his thoughts were muted and disconnected.

Then his thoughts left him completely.

-~-

Clint was worried.

Not about Bucky, that would’ve made far too much sense.

No, he was worried about Natasha. He’d seen the cracks appear in her before – the night she found out about Bucky’s injuries had been the first time but he’d seen it intermittently in the months during his recovery and after his arrival in DC – and he’d learned not to ask questions. When he asked questions or challenged Natasha’s stability in any way, shape, or form, her immediate response was defensiveness. Instead, he’d switched to more casual and indirect tactics, anything where her hackles wouldn’t end up raised. 

Granted, the timing of Natasha’s sudden inability to cope wasn’t exactly the greatest. With her hands still visibly shaking and Steve’s breathing erratic, Clint didn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving the two of them on their own.

Which was problematic since there were quite a few phone calls he needed to make. 

At the least, he could text, and text he did, at least to the people where he didn’t need to worry about the possibility of the messages being dragged up from cyberspace and used against him in a court of law. Primarily, those messages went to Sam; another pair of hands on deck for both Natasha and Bucky’s mental well-being could only be a good thing. Not to mention that Sam deserved to know what was going on, given his history with Barnes and his current relationship status with Natasha and Clint.

By the time Natasha started pacing and Steve asked the nurses every five minutes if they had any news on Bucky, Clint was on his feet and stepping out to make the call. He had no doubt he’d be blasted for calling on his cell phone, even if it weren’t for a work related reason.

When the person on the other end picked up, he succinctly said, “Don’t yell at me, sir, I know I shouldn’t be using this line. But something happened and I need a favor.”

Cashing in his favors now meant he might not have them the next time he needed help out of tight spot, but it was the least he could do for his friends.

He listened for a moment and then his expression relaxed into a smile. “Thank you, sir. Yes, sir, I can tell you what’s going on.” 

Clint told him everything.

-~-

After far too many hours where there was no information on Bucky’s condition, Steve thought he was going to crawl out of his skin based on the surge of anxiety that he experienced each time he thought about what might be taking so long – what if something went wrong during the surgery or the head injury had been bad enough to land Bucky in a coma? That led to him using his inhaler a few more times because he couldn’t figure out if he was having a panic attack or an asthma attack. He could only control one of those at this point, so he used the tools he had on hand.

Finally though, finally the doctor had come out and let them know that Bucky was out of surgery and awake. The doctor explained that Bucky had needed to be sedated based on the concern of him becoming a danger to himself or others since he became agitated after waking up – and, boy, did Natasha look furious at that – which had led to the delay in bringing them back to see him. At this point, they were informed that Bucky had been transferred to a room for the night; based on the surgery and the head injury, the hospital insisted on keeping him overnight for observation.

Although the doctor stated that only immediate family would be allowed back – clearly meaning Natasha – Natasha readily vouched for Steve and within a few minutes the two of them, sans Clint who was still on the phone anyways, were heading to the room. Natasha led the way inside and immediately stopped to speak with the doctor – quite angrily, no less – upon noticing the restraint on Bucky’s left arm. 

“You’re going to trigger him,” she argued. “If that was on him when he started to wake up, it’s no wonder he panicked. He has a history of being restrained. He doesn’t respond well to that.” 

Steve barely listened to the doctor’s explanation, detailing their concerns about Bucky injuring himself or one of the nurses working around him, as his attention was focused entirely on Bucky’s still form in the bed. 

Bucky’s eyes were partway open, but were glazed over, as though he were seeing nothing in front of him. Mindful of startling him, Steve lightly rested a hand on Bucky’s metal arm and softly said his name, then added, “It’s me, Steve. I’m here. It’s alright. You’re alright.”

When Bucky didn’t flinch away – or offer any other indication he realized Steve was sitting there with him – Steve patted Bucky’s hand the best he could, wishing he could interlace his fingers with Bucky’s and cursing the splints that prevented that. Bucky blinked once, and then again, and blearily focused on Steve’s face.

“That’s it, that’s right, Buck,” he said. 

Bucky reoriented somewhat, at least enough to rasp out, “Where am I?” 

“You’re in the hospital” 

Bucky’s eyes widened into a look of sheer panic and shifted in the direction of his right arm. 

Steve frowned the slightest bit and tentatively asked, “Bucky?” 

But Bucky gave no indication that he’d heard him. By the time the beeping of the machines increased, Steve was already more than aware that Bucky was rapidly working himself towards a panic attack.

Natasha recognized that as well, given that she moved to his right side – not touching the arm, of course – and murmured, “Easy, James. Breathe. Your right arm is fine.”

Bucky’s teeth clicked together, practically chattering, as he shuddered and he barely managed to choke out, “But… but I can’t…”

“I know you can’t feel it,” she said soothingly. “You can’t feel it right now because the doctors used nerve-blockers during the surgery to minimize the pain as much as possible. But your arm is still there and will be fully functional once the bone heals.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, the only clear indication that he’d actually heard Natasha’s words and at least somewhat registered them, given that his voice was still shaking and broken. “I… I can’t feel my arm, Nat. I can’t feel my arm. Was it hurt bad enough that they took it too? Are you sure it’s still there?”

At that, Natasha very gently covered Bucky’s right hand with her own. “My hand is on yours right now. Look down and you’ll see it yourself, I promise.” 

With effort, Bucky managed to tilt his head a bit, enough that he apparently caught sight of his arm. Some of the tension left his jaw and he exhaled slowly.

“See? Everything’s alright, you’re healing, and there’s nothing to worry about there,” Natasha murmured. 

Bucky chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I can’t see all of my arm. You promise it’s all still there? They didn’t take some of it away?” 

“I’m positive.” She tugged out her cell phone. “Here, I’ll take a picture of it. That way you can see for yourself.”

While she did that, Steve sat there helplessly, at a complete loss for what to do to comfort Bucky – he couldn’t hold his hand, he couldn’t take a picture of Bucky’s right arm, and he didn’t even know what words to say or how to respond, not the way Natasha did – and watched as Natasha showed Bucky the picture. 

“See? All in one piece. Everything down to each individual finger is present and accounted for.” 

Bucky shoulders relaxed the slightest bit and his eyes slipped shut as he took a few steadying, measured breaths. Steve felt some of the tension leave his own body in response to seeing Bucky relax, but that only lasted a moment. Bucky inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open once again.

“Nat… Nat, did I… did I kill him?” he choked out.

Steve tried not to read too much into the fact that Bucky was still focused entirely on Natasha and quelled the sick feeling in his stomach when he realized Bucky had barely noticed his presence in the room. He reminded himself that Bucky had years of history with Natasha. There was every reason he would turn to her now when he was disoriented and drugged and hurt. Steve had only been in his life for a brief period of time in comparison.

Steve just hoped that Bucky’s lack of responsiveness towards him wasn’t a sign of anger. After all, it was his fault Bucky was in this situation now. If he hadn’t been caught off-guard when Rumlow jumped him, if he’d just fought back a little more, if he’d been something other than a scrawny twig of a human being, maybe Bucky wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.

Maybe Bucky wouldn’t be facing potential assault charges, since Steve had no doubt that Rumlow would press charges. 

“No, you didn’t,” Natasha assured him.

Steve couldn’t help but add, “The fucker’s in surgery but he’ll live.” 

“Thank Christ,” Bucky murmured. “Not that he deserves to be breathing… not after what he did to you… but I’m glad I didn’t kill him. I don’t need anymore blood on my hands.”

The look in his eyes was distant and haunted. 

“I know,” Steve said gently, because it was something to say and he didn’t know what else to do. “I know, Buck.” 

He longed to stroke Bucky’s hair, to comfort him in any manner, but as that was impossible for the time being, he just settled on keeping his splinted hand resting on Bucky’s metal one. The curve of Bucky’s lips was decidedly unhappy and upset. Steve probably shouldn’t have been surprised when Bucky made a sudden, admittedly unexpected attempt to either sit up or fling himself off the bed. Steve could not have been certain which, given that the end result was that Bucky tried to prop himself up on his metal arm – the restraint preventing him from getting particularly far - before crumpling back against the bed with a few muffled, partially strangled-sounding curses. 

“Hey, whoa, easy there.” Steve moved his hand to Bucky’s shoulder as though he might be able to stop further movement with a handful of broken fingers and no muscle when he was contending with the strength of a metal arm. “If you want to sit up, we can adjust the bed but you shouldn’t be moving right now, Buck.”

Bucky forced his face into a mask for a matter of seconds before his expression broke – his lower lip quivered, his eyes flashed panic and terror – and his voice was almost a whimper as he rasped, “I… I don’t want… I… what’s keeping me from moving? I don’t like it…. I… I… don’t want to be here.” 

“I know, believe me, I know,” he said soothingly. “But the doctors need to keep an eye on you tonight. Natasha tried to talk to them about the restraint on your arm and I’ll try too. I’m not going to leave you, you won’t be alone, and as soon as they release you, I’ll take you home.”

Steve couldn’t take the raw, pleading look in Bucky’s eyes. The look that said that Bucky desperately wanted Steve to do something to take the pain and fear away when there was nothing that Steve could do to change that. 

“But… the… the smell… and the bed… and… and…” Bucky said plaintively and at the end his voice broke and he made no attempt to finish that sentence.

Just as Steve once again found himself uncertain what to do or say or how to respond at all, Natasha stepped in. Steve tried so very hard to not be resentful with her or furious with himself. She gently combed her fingers through Bucky’s hair in the exact way Steve couldn’t, and Bucky’s taut muscles relaxed the slightest bit. 

“I know, James,” she murmured. “I know what kind of memories this must be bringing up for you but it’s only for one night. Would it help if I went down to the gift shop? I could check out whether they have any oil or perfume in relaxing scents. Something to help distract you from that part of the sensory experience? Think that might help?”

“It might,” he said uncertainly.

Natasha nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “In that case, I’ll be right back.” 

She was out of the room before Steve fully registered that her leaving meant that he was alone with Bucky with no idea what to do or say. Reflecting on how much Bucky had relaxed in response to Natasha stroking his hair, he wondered whether his fingers might be healed enough to remove the splints, then thought better of it because the last thing he needed to do was upset Bucky further.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Only a few moments of silence went by before Bucky quietly said Steve’s name, and then, “Could you talk to me? Help keep me focused?”

“Sure, Buck,” he said readily because that was something he could do, particularly when he was failing at everything else. 

At least that had been his initial impression. As things turned out, he was a bit more lost for words than he’d originally thought. Naturally, his first words were the completely uncensored thoughts going through his head.

“I was just thinking about how peaceful everything was this morning,” he said, and then committed to continuing rather than backtracking and saying something else. “I woke up before the alarm went off and I was just watching you sleep. You looked so calm and relaxed and my fingers literally hurt, cause I wanted to draw you but I couldn’t.” 

“You wanted to draw me?” Bucky sounded surprised.

“I did draw you, once,” Steve admitted. “Not since we started dating, I mean. I just… it was after I met you the first time. I couldn’t get your face out of my head and when I can’t stop thinking, I put what’s on my mind down on paper.” 

“You drew me before we even started dating, after the first time you met me?”

Steve hoped against hope that maybe with all of the drugs in his system, Bucky wouldn’t fully remember this conversation the next morning. “Yup. I guess I was attached to you even then.” 

Bucky seemed to have another question poised and ready to ask when there was a light knock on the door. Clint stepped inside, followed by a far too familiar figure in Steve’s life. The man’s dark hair was slicked back and despite his rank, he looked younger than he should have given his status of detective. As always when Steve had seen him, he was dressed in a three-piece suit, finely pressed, as though he could make up for his age by dressing as professionally as possible. 

“Detective Coulson,” Steve greeted him, somewhat surprised that he would have been chosen to be sent to the hospital over this situation – though, Steve supposed, that might have had something to do with the fact that the detective had taken 99% of the assault reports Steve had made over the years - and even more surprised that he’d shown up with Clint. 

“Hello, Mr. Rogers,” the detective said. “I received some preliminary information on the incident at Shield from Mr. Barton. However, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Barnes to discuss what happened. Would now be a good time?” 

“You don’t have to speak to him without an attorney,” Clint said quickly, and Coulson sent him a bit of a look that he studiously ignored.

Something about their dynamics spoke of a familiarity Steve wouldn’t have expected between them. 

“I know,” Bucky said, drawing Steve’s attention back to him. His stomach fell the slightest bit as he noted the lack of emotion on Bucky’s face and the glazed look in his eyes. “It’s fine. We can talk.” 

“Bucky, you don’t have to,” Steve pressed, before appealing to Coulson. “Detective, he’s still heavily medicated.” 

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky repeated. “I’d rather get it over with. I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll answer any questions he has and I don’t need a lawyer for that.” He tried to force a smile that looked brittle and broken. “Don’t worry about me, Steve. I’ll be fine.”

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Okay. I’ll be right outside.”

Clint seemed equally disinclined to leave but another look from Detective Coulson was enough for him to follow after Steve. Steve, for his part, reluctantly allowed the door to close behind him and then rested his head against the wall with a sigh. He breathed in and out slowly. His breath caught in his throat, and so he tried again, which only succeeded on bringing on a coughing fit.

“You need to use your inhaler again?” Clint asked. “Or are inhalers not particularly good for panic attacks? Since I think that’s what you’re having.”

“I’m not having a panic attack,” Steve responded, shoving down the flash of anger that accompanied Clint’s question. 

At least he was pretty certain he wasn’t. He didn’t think he’d had a panic attack before, so he supposed he wouldn’t know the difference, although he’d noticed the changes in Bucky’s breathing when he became anxious. That was enough of an example to give him an idea of what a panic attack looked like, and that definitely wasn’t what he was having right now.

He just couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t even realize that he’d closed his eyes to concentrate on his breathing – in and out, just in and out – until a hand rested on his shoulder and he startled. 

“Steve, Barnes is gonna kill me if you stop breathing or pass out on me or something,” Clint said, accentuating the words with a light squeeze. “How about you try that inhaler of yours again, huh?” 

The urge to argue, “I’m fine” died on his lips and he resignedly pulled out his inhaler. Taking two puffs on it, his throat released and his lungs expand to take in more air – although the increase in heart rate did nothing for his overall sense of shakiness – and he tried not to resent the fact that Clint’s hand was still rested on his shoulder, as though Clint were afraid of him falling. 

“That’s right, Rogers, but breathe in and out, nice and easy,” Clint offered, in what Steve was fairly certain was meant to be a helpful tone.

The problem was that Steve still wanted to deck him, even if his breathing was coming a bit easier. Better to take Clint’s attention off of him and shift the focus elsewhere.

The words came slowly, partially stuck in Steve’s still closed up throat, but he managed to ask, “So, what’s the deal with you and Coulson?” 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said with a shrug. “Just seemed like there was some history there.”

Clint smirked, although something about that looked less than genuine. “Yeah, we’ve got a history. He busted me a few times.”

Steve was preparing to ask exactly what Coulson had busted Clint for when Natasha returned and narrowed her eyes upon seeing Steve and Clint standing outside the room. Before she could ask any questions – or enter the room – Steve intercepted her.

“Detective Coulson’s in there getting Bucky’s statement,” he explained.

Natasha frowned. “What were you thinking, Rogers?” she asked quietly, her tone dangerous. “You should never have left him alone. He’s not in any state to be giving a statement to the police and he should not be doing that without a lawyer present.”

“That’s what I said,” Clint said helpfully. “But no one listened to me.”

Natasha’s hand was on the doorknob when it opened and Detective Coulson stepped out, his expression serious and concerned. Although Natasha took a step back, her posture immediately shifted into a defensive stance, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowed. 

Steve took the opportunity to ask, “It was self-defense, right? That guy swung at Bucky first?”

Detective Coulson sighed and Steve felt a lurch in his chest as his heart dropped. “Not exactly, Steve. According to what James just told me, he was the one who assaulted the alleged victim.” 

Natasha looked frustrated but unsurprised and Steve could only register his own emotional reaction as stunned. 

“Shit,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “But… but… he told you why, right? He recognized the guy’s tattoo; that was the guy who attacked me. So… he had a reason and that’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, he told me all of that and that makes me want to lock up - ” There Coulson paused to glance at the name written in his notes “ – Rumlow and between you and me, I also feel as though that man probably got what he deserved. That said, the fact remains that James just informed me that he assaulted Rumlow with a piercing needle.”

Steve’s breathing all but stopped at that. 

“Christ, James, you fucking idiot,” Natasha muttered, and rubbed her temples as though she was fighting off a headache. 

As his shock dissipated into anger, Steve couldn’t help but quietly snap at Natasha. “Don’t talk about him like that, he thought he was doing the right thing.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that lungs protested and ached and burned in response to the attempt to force air into his system. “What kind of penalty are we looking at if Rumlow decides to press changes?”

Coulson sighed once again, and Steve refused to allow his emotions to spiral out of control again until he had the facts. “The typical sentence for aggravated assault is ten years. There are obviously mitigating factors in this case; however, given that you were the victim of Rumlow’s attack, not James, I am uncertain of what role that would play in the sentencing. However, there are the additional factors of James being a veteran with diagnosed PTSD and a history of traumatic brain injury. That might potentially change things, assuming, of course, that charges are pressed.” 

“Do you know yet if Rumlow is planning on pressing charges?” Steve asked.

“The last I heard, he was still in surgery. As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know,” Detective Coulson promised. His expression was somewhere between concerned and pitying.

Steve’s own expression fall. “You think he’ll press charges.”

“James caused some pretty significant damage to him,” Coulson said, although he gave Steve an appraising look before adding, “Of course, you could press charges of your own, Steve.”

Steve’s lips threatened to curve into a smirk and he quickly stifled that urge. 

Detective Coulson was completely right. Steve could press charges. Perhaps that was all he needed to do to keep Bucky from going to jail.


	17. Well, Jesus Christ, I'm Not Scared To Die, I'm A Little Bit Scared Of What Comes After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve takes matters into his own hands, Bucky is broken, Darcy makes next month's rent through one phone call, and Tony Stark (or at least his voice) makes an appearance.

With Coulson posted right outside the door, Steve stepped into the room without any hesitation, his shoulders squared and his head up. After spending the last two hours sitting beside Bucky while he alternated between dissociating and substance/injury induced unconsciousness, Steve had no uncertainty with his present course of actions.

He placed – or, more appropriately dropped - a piece of paper and pencil on the hospital bed table, well within arms length of the man lying there. The fact that his fingers still didn’t allow him to properly carry any objects was another factor in steeling his resolve. His gaze slowly moved from the table, up to the man’s face. His lips curved into a smirk as he took in the swollen, bruised, and stitched together skin; even though he could barely get a decent view given the bandages and wire keeping everything held together.

“I figured you might need this.” He nodded towards the paper. “I was informed that you couldn’t exactly open your mouth, though anyone can tell that just by looking at you.” 

The silence was expected – speaking with a wired together jaw wasn’t exactly feasible. Though the fact that Steve couldn’t read any facial expression was somewhat disconcerting.

“I hear you’ve got a tattoo on your lower leg: crossbones, right?” Steve continued. “You know, that sounds so familiar to me and when I saw a picture of it, I realized that it was identical to the one I saw on the coward who assaulted me a few weeks back. I don’t believe I caught your name or saw your face then. It’s nice to finally know the identity of the asshole who did that to me.” He gestured towards the paper. “You wanna write down why you targeted me? I figured it’d be nice to have some sort of motive for those actions, seeing as I’ve never seen your sorry self before now.”

Rumlow continued to stare at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. The he took a hold of the pencil and scrawled out, _“Fuck you.”_

Steve’s mouth twisted into something between an angry smile and a sneer, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll just have to come up with a reason on my own. Best reason I can come up with is that you’re just completely batshit insane. Can’t come up with any other motive, since I don’t even know you. I know you had a conversation with Detective Coulson not too long ago, right before I came in. I had a little talk with him too. Seems like we have something in common: we’re both pressing charges against someone. You wanna guess who I’m pressing charges against? Or maybe guess how long you’re going away for? I’m guessing it’s going to be a pretty long time. After all, that attack was unprovoked and premeditated. Think you can handle jail and prison?” 

Rumlow reached for the pencil again and Steve’s jaw clenched as he read the words: _“Think the robot can handle it?”_

“Given that he’s a soldier, my bet’s on him handling it a lot better than you,” Steve said coldly. “You didn’t exactly walk away from that fight.”

 _“Won’t be let in gen pop with that arm”_ , Rumlow scrawled out. _“He’ll be in solitary. He’ll lose his mind.”_

“And you’d get shanked within a day,” Steve snarled. “A nutjob like you wouldn’t last more than twenty-four hours tops. So I want you to think about just how much you wanna be in jail. Because I’m guessing that when you think about it, you’re going to realize that’s not how you wanted your college career to end. Not when you’re this close to finally graduating. I’m pretty sure that when you actually think about it, you’re going to realize that you don’t want to be spending the rest of your super senior year in jail and graduate to prison instead of from college. It goes without saying that Bucky doesn’t exactly want to be in jail himself. So what I’m thinking is that to keep everyone happy and to prevent anyone from going to jail, the two of us are going to come to an arrangement.” 

Rumlow didn’t reach for the pencil again this time. Steve was reasonably certain that underneath the bandages and swollen flesh, his expression was expectant. Regardless, Steve took that as a reason to continue speaking.

“It’s a very simple solution. You don’t press charges against him and I won’t press charges against you. Neither of you goes to jail. Neither of you gets a record. You never go near him again.” 

Rumlow continued staring at Steve for long enough that Steve wondered if he might need to repeat himself. Finally, his fingers curled around the pencil and Steve watched the words appear on the paper. 

_“How can I trust you?”_

“Because, if you agree, we’ll make it official and provide written statements to Detective Coulson,” Steve said. “Hell, we can even get ‘em witnessed. That way there’s no question.” 

Steve held his breath. It seemed like minutes passed. 

Then Rumlow simply wrote, _“OK.”_

The smile on Steve’s face in response to that single word was one of pure triumph.

-~- 

Time didn’t exist, not anymore.

Time was in fragments.

He came in and out, alternating between realities, uncertain of which was the accurate one. In one, his left arm was gone and absent; in the other there was metal where his arm used to be. In one, his right arm was fine; in the other, his arm hung in a sling.

Natasha existed in both realities, though her hair was longer in one than the other. In both there were dark circles beneath her eyes, but at least she was a constant. Particularly because the skinny blonde sitting on the other side of his bed, sometimes talking to Natasha when Bucky stayed in one place long enough to notice, wasn’t always there, and that didn’t depend on whether his left arm was gone or replaced.

Sometimes there was screaming when he woke up. He couldn’t figure out where the sound was coming from but he noticed his throat ached afterwards. 

At those times, Natasha spoke quietly to him, even though he couldn’t hear her over the screams, but her hands were gentle as they brushed his hair back and meeting her gaze was comforting despite the level of concern in her eyes.

He tried to hold onto himself during those times, to keep from slipping away again, but his thoughts were fractured and thinking hurt, and it was so much easier to stop fighting and let go. 

At least until the blonde came back. 

Bucky dimly registered that he should have been uneasy – Natasha was gone, nowhere in sight, and she’d been the one constant – and the screaming was back. The blonde helplessly reached for Bucky, as though to stroke his hair the way Natasha had been doing to calm him, but his fingers were wrong, deformed, and coated in metal and tape. His expression was one of frustration – and Bucky was proud of himself for recognizing emotion, even if it wasn’t his own – and it wasn’t until the screaming stopped that Bucky was able to hear the words, though the young man’s lips were moving.

“Bucky, it’s okay, you’re with me. We’re in a hospital room in DC. You’re recovering from getting your arm reset and you’re safe.”

“Steve,” a voice said. It took Bucky a second to realize that it was his own. 

Now he had a name for the blonde and with that name came a series of memories – snapshots of their times together – and that helped to form the remaining missing pieces of the puzzle. Steve was his boyfriend. They worked in a tattoo shop together. Steve’s fingers were broken because of that man – an image of crossbones came into Bucky’s head at that, though he couldn’t remember the man’s name – Bucky had attacked him for hurting Steve. That was how he’d hurt his arm. His other arm had been gone for well over a year, since he’d lost it in Iraq. That was why it was made of metal now.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He was grateful that this time he didn’t find it hard to stay present or have the urge to drift away again, even with his eyes closed. 

“Steve,” he repeated, a bit more surely. “Fuck. I hate this shit.”

“I know. You’ve just got make it through tonight. As soon as the doctor clears you tomorrow morning we’ll get you home.”

The thought of a night in the hospital – the smell of antiseptic, steady beeps from the machines, coldness as the next dose of medication entered his blood stream – was enough to make his uneasy calm jump towards panic. Thankfully, the mention of home conjured up images as well – the smell of dinner cooking, low hum of sound from the television, and warmth of Steve’s body curled up against his own – and it helped to keep him steady.

“Just tonight.” He kept his eyes closed because that was the only way he’d be able to hold onto the comforting images of home. “I can do that.” 

Steve may have answered. Bucky may have held on for a little longer. In the end, he couldn’t be sure of either. 

He remembered Natasha saying goodnight to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Visiting hours were over, which meant he must have lost time again because just a few minutes ago Steve had been there. He understood that he was being left alone, although he couldn’t understand why Steve had disappeared without saying goodbye – and then Natasha whispered that Steve planned to sneak back in. 

Bucky tried to hold onto that but the nurse came with the next dose of medication. Everything was blurred and confused until Steve’s small, warm form curled against him in the hospital bed, and then he didn’t mind that he felt like he was floating because he wasn’t alone and he felt safe.

Then Steve was gone and the nurse was back. He asked her if she’d seen where Steve had gone. She’d seemed concerned by the question and spent several minutes making sure he knew who he was and where he was and when it was – which was silly, those were easy questions and he just wanted to know where Steve had gone – and then he was left alone again. Without Steve’s body nestled against his own, and the medicine in his veins, he felt cold again. He shook until, suddenly, there was a rustle and a flash of movement – he recoiled automatically, until he registered Steve’s whispered words – and then he was warm once again. He drifted without fighting off sleep.

The morning came with a heightened level of coherency, either because the dosage of medication had been lowered or his head had cleared. He was vaguely aware that, when Steve and Natasha showed up together, Steve was still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the previous day. A few tests later – which roughly translated to several hours, particularly with all of the paperwork he needed to fill out – and he was released into Steve and Natasha’s care.

He rested his head against Steve’s shoulder as Natasha drove them back, listening dimly to their conversation – the only part he fully registered was that they were bringing him back to the townhouse rather than Steve’s apartment, something about not wanting to trigger him by having him walk through Shield – and then he was being herded and helped out of the car and inside. 

Everything was a blur of color and movement as he stumbled his way up the stairs, aided by Steve on one side and Natasha on the other. Then he was settled in his bed, although his body still felt as though he were upright and moving. He closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness.

He hadn’t meant to let himself go completely but between the pain and exhaustion, he didn’t have much of a choice.

-~-

The atmosphere in the shop felt off. For starters, Darcy was the only one currently working, which made having the shop open somewhat pointless. Based on the last text message from Steve she’d received, he’d brought Bucky back to Natasha’s townhouse and was keeping an eye on him while he rested. Clint had helped her open up that morning, even though he didn’t look like he’d rested much himself – and when she’d asked, he’d mumbled something about keeping an eye on Natasha all night – but then he’d had to leave for his morning class. Since then, Darcy had been taking and retaking inventory of the jewelry and teaching Lucky new tricks. 

By the time the phone rang, Lucky had mastered sit, stay, shake, and play dead. 

“This is Shield, how can I help you?” she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

“Hi, Shield, this is your owner,” came the response. Darcy jumped to attention seeing as she couldn’t remember the last time Tony Stark had bothered to call the shop.

“Hi, Tony, it’s Darcy. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Darcy. Any chance you could clue me into what happened yesterday that required two ambulances to show up at my building?”

“Ohhh, that.” Darcy twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she tried to figure out how to answer that question, and whether Steve would have any qualms with her providing everything she knew. She settled on full disclosure seeing as Tony did pay the bills. “Yeah, um, there was a bit of an incident. I don’t know if Steve told you that he got jumped a couple weeks back?”

“No, he hadn’t exactly mentioned that,” Tony said in a tone that was far too casual and made her fairly certain he wasn’t pleased to hear that news. “But, please, go on.” 

“Well, the guy who attacked him came into the shop, which was all kinds of stupid and bad and unfortunate because Steve’s boytoy totally kicked his ass.” 

“Wait, Rogers has a boytoy?” Tony asked. Darcy remembered just why she liked Tony, since he was the only person aside from her who seemed to register the important parts of statements like that.

“Yeah, he didn’t tell you that either? That’s messed up. The guy’s cute and he and Steve are adorable together.”

“I need the details, Darcy. I mean, it would be great to also know the exact outcomes of that situation, like whether anyone is in jail and if there’s anything I can do about that, but assuming I can’t do anything, how about you tell me everything about Rogers’ boyfriend.”

“No one’s in jail as far as I know,” Darcy clarified. “I can provide more information on Steve’s boyfriend but it’s gonna cost you. You’re a billionaire, so I know you’re good for it. What do you say, Stark? How much is that info worth to you?”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, Darcy,” Tony said with a chuckle. “How’s $500 sound?”

She tsked at him. “That’s it? Really? Please, I know that’s chump change for you. Try again.”

“I respect your negotiation tactics. $800 more in your price range?”

“I mean, if you’re going to make it $800, you might as well just round it up to a thousand. I like it when things are nice and neat and even.”

She wondered for a moment or two whether she’d pushed things too far, but then Tony laughed delightedly and somewhat incredulously. “A thousand it is. I’ll wire it straight to your account. So, tell me all about Rogers and his boyfriend. I’ll throw in extra if you can provide pictures.”

“Heard loud and clear.” She reached for her iPad to monitor her account activity. “I’ll start talking as soon as soon as my account balance changes. Show me the money, Stark.”

“Patience is a virtue, Darcy. Even I can’t transfer funds that quickly.”

“You know nothing about patience,” she retorted, and then grinned as she saw the money in her account double (Tony accentuated that with a pleased, “Tada!”). “Alright, so, Steve’s boytoy is the new piercist, Bucky. He’s very handsome - I mean, I’d hit that so I can totally see why Steve’s into him – and he’s snarky, although he can be pretty serious at times too, but they’re precious together. You actually might kinda know Bucky, now that I think about it? He’s Natasha’s friend, the one she called in a favor to you for so that he could get a badass metal arm.”

“Oh yeah, I think I remember that. Romanoff had some sort of blackmail on me – but then, doesn’t she always have some blackmail on everyone, am I right, or am I right? – and being the good Samaritan I am, I figured I should help her friend out since he was a veteran and all. So, speaking of blackmail material, where are those pictures I requested? There’s another $500 for you if they’re any good.” 

“I’ve got a couple of Bucky,” Darcy said with a grin. “Plus Clint took an adorable one of Bucky and Steve during the stakeout that I missed because I had class that night, which was bullshit.” 

“Wait, go back a step - but send the pictures while we’re talking –and clue me into what led to a stakeout and where this stake-out occurred.” 

Darcy sent the pictures and waited for the money to be transferred into her account. “Both of those pictures were already up on my Facebook and Instagram, for the record, but anyways…”

Tony cut her off. “You’re lucky I like your style, Darce, or I would’ve taken that money right back.” 

“No fair, finders keepers and all,” she said, unconcerned. “Anyways, my information should be more than worth that money seeing as apparently the boss man hasn’t been telling you anything. Anyways, a week or two ago – who can even remember at this point? – a girl came into the shop and Clint said she was casing the place. So Clint, Bucky, Steve, and Natasha did a stakeout on the shop and caught her and her brother breaking in. She apparently picked the lock real good and had all the tools and shit. But they were homeless, so Steve just gave them food and medicine and let them go.” 

“Yeah, me and Rogers are going to need to have a talk one of these days. I mean, seriously, I thought we were friends but he’s not sharing anything about his life with me anymore. We need to talk about that soon. So… back to the incident yesterday, you know anything about the outcome? Any charges being pressed? Anything else I need to know about?”

“Steve called me this morning and said that there were no charges being pressed, so Bucky’s in the clear. He’s apparently pretty fucked up though; Steve said he was staying over at Natasha’s with him. Aaaaaaaaand… I think that’s about it, since I told you about the two potential thieves and how they were stopped. So, all in all, I’d say that it’s been a pleasure doing business with you and I hope we can do it again.”

“Certainly,” Tony said. “I’ll always pay for blackmail material. Let the boss man know I’ll be around over the next few days to check up on him and the shop and meet his boytoy.” 

“Will do, Stark.”

Darcy felt substantially better once she hung up the phone. There was nothing like getting almost enough money to cover rent for the next month to improve her mood.


	18. There's A Room Where The Light Won't Find You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the twins come back onto the radar, some of their history is revealed, a bit of Clint's story is hinted at, and speaking of Clint, he also officially takes in a new set of strays with the help of Natasha and Sam.

The worst part of being on the street was finding a place to stay. It wasn’t the cold or the constant gnawing hunger in her stomach. It was having nowhere to put down roots and feel safe. Truth be told, Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt completely and utterly safe. Maybe on the day of their adoption, well over a decade ago, before they’d found out that their new life wasn’t as magical and perfect as they’d been led to believe.

In two days, that would all change. In two days, it would be October 31st and they wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Everything would be different then.

Or at least, that was what Wanda kept telling herself.

They’d moved from place to place since the previous evening, when the cops had raided their latest location. They’d barely evaded getting taken into custody. The early morning hours had been spent walking, until both were practically asleep on their feet. They’d spent the day holed up in a coffee shop, spending their last few dollars on cups of coffee and a bagel, which they shared. The barista – her nametag identified her as Jane - snuck them an extra cup of coffee and sandwich around lunchtime. Pietro had been suspicious of the kind gesture, while Wanda hadn’t been willing to refuse the first actual meal they’d had in days, maybe even weeks at this point.

Once the barista’s shift ended, they’d moved back to the street and wandered from place to place – the bookstore, an internet café, anywhere they could stay for a little while without drawing attention to themselves – and between the two of them, they’d probably managed to snag an hour or so of sleep apiece. By dinnertime, her stomach was already growling again and she wondered how over the years, her body hadn’t adapted to the constant lack of available food by decreasing her appetite. Pietro suggested the two of them make an attempt to sneak into the gym on campus to snag a shower and clean themselves up before it closed for the evening. 

When they had a secure – or relatively secure – place to stay, it was harder to convince themselves to do things like take the time to clean themselves up since it was a risk every time they snuck in. Without a place to stay though, there was no reason not to make the attempt, with the worst case being that they’d be turned away at the door.

At least that had been her perception before the sound of drunken laughter came from behind them. Pietro wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. She glanced behind as discreetly as she could. There were about five male college students illuminated by the streetlight, stumbling behind them. 

That look behind was a mistake. Immediately the catcalling started – “Hey, baby, how about you let us see that face again?” “Forget the face, why’re you wearing so many layers, girl? How about you show us what those baggy clothes are hiding?” Her brother tensed. Before she could stop him, he’d whirled around. 

“How about you fuck off and leave me and my sister alone?” 

She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back, though she added, “What my brother said: fuck off.” 

“Don’t be like that, baby,” one of the guys said. Wanda muttered a few choice curse words when Pietro dug his heels in and refused to be moved. “We were just admiring that body of yours. That’s not a crime, is it?” 

“Yeah, you should be glad we’re paying you these compliments, we don’t just do that to anyone,” another one of the guy’s said.

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” Wanda struggled to pull Pietro back another few feet as the distance between the drunk guys and her and her brother continued to decrease. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested.” 

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” said one of them. By this point Wanda couldn’t even tell them apart.

“Don’t call my sister that,” Pietro snarled. Wanda tried one more time to pull him away. The sinking feeling in her stomach warned her that things could get significantly worse here and fast.

“Or what? What’ll you do about it, kid?” the guy questioned. 

Maybe, just maybe, Wanda would have been able to redirect the situation. Pietro hadn’t responded to that; if they’d turned around right then, maybe everything would have been fine.

But before she could make one last attempt to get Pietro out of there, the guy standing closest to her grabbed her by the arm and all hell broke loose immediately. Pietro’s response was instantaneous - and Wanda couldn’t blame him after what he’d seen other times when someone had grabbed her – and resulted in him punching the guy in the face. 

The next moment two other guys were on top of him, punching, kicking, yelling. Wanda leapt forward, intent on trying to pull them off before they caused any significant harm to him – though years of near starvation hadn’t exactly done much to provide her with muscles and her fighting skills were minimal. Before she could do anything, there were arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back.

She desperately lashed out with her elbow, catching the guy in the jaw, and then spun back towards him to rake her nails across his face. While he screamed in pain and attempted to cover his eyes, she turned back to the group attacking her brother and leapt onto one of the other guy’s backs to try and slow him down, if not fully stop him. She’d barely anchored her arm around his neck when he ducked forward. She flipped through the air and landed in a tangle of limbs half on the grass, half on the walkway.

She’d barely managed to prop herself up on one scraped elbow when she heard the sirens approaching and saw the flashing lights and her heart all but stopped. 

“No,” she choked out hopelessly, helplessly. 

The thought of leaving her brother and running never even crossed her mind. Instead, she took the last few seconds before the officers descended on them and broke up the scuffle to coming up with some sort of feasible story.

She’d gotten them out of trouble before, she could do it again.

-~-

“The boy’s refused medical care.” 

Coulson made a point of discreetly tucking the faxed over papers he’d been reviewing into a folder to shield them from view as his partner came over.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he said softly.

“Problem is that the kid doesn’t look over 18 and neither one of ‘em have any sort of identification. He keeps saying he’ll sign whatever consents required of him but we can’t guarantee that he’s even legally able to sign them, and it’s going to be our asses on the line if he needs medical care and we didn’t get him it.” 

Coulson exhaled slowly. “I’ll take responsibility for them for the time being. Bring them into the interrogation room. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

After his partner had left, he pulled out the papers that had just been faxed over and reviewed them once more before picking up his phone and dialing a number. 

He waited for the other end of the line to be picked up before he said, “Barton, we need you to come in. Those twins you’ve been looking for? They were picked up earlier. Got themselves into a bit of a scrap with a couple frat boys. Their fingerprints were a positive match and we’re running low on time. Their father should be here in a matter of hours. If you want a new set of strays, they’re yours.” 

-~-

Wanda was terrified.

It wasn’t just the fact that they were stuck in a police station, locked up, and potentially having charges pressed against them – which was bullshit, the assault had entirely been on those fuckers who’d jumped them, even if Pietro had thrown the first punch – or that the officers had taken their fingerprints and she had no doubt that those could register in the system.

All of that had her concerned and anxious, but she thought she might be able to figure out ways of manipulating the system and rectifying those situations. No, what scared her was the condition her brother was in. She’d caught sight of the bruises on his face and the split lip and probably broken nose when they were in the back of the police car, being brought to the station. His usually sharp tongue wasn’t even in play; he’d remained silent as the officers brought them to the holding cells and then sat there quietly, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered. When she’d asked him how bad the injuries were – not in English, of course, she wasn’t about to risk them dragging her brother off to the hospital – he’d barely been responsive.

And now, sitting in the interview room, Pietro was still and all but silent with none of that restless energy she was used to seeing and particularly expected to see in a situation like this one. She was a bit surprised, though grateful, that the officers hadn’t left them handcuffed upon leaving them in there. That gave Wanda the freedom to smooth back her brother’s hair and look him over, taking note of all the bruised and broken skin she could find. She hoped against hope that none of the broken bones required setting since there was no way they could go to the hospital.

“You’ll be okay.” She still refrained from English since she had no idea who might be listening. “Just hang on. I’ll take care of you. We’ll be just fine.” 

“I hope so.” His voice sounded tired and worn. “I’m sorry I got us into this situation.”

“Wasn’t your fault. You were trying to protect me.” 

She never got to hear how he would have responded to that, seeing as that was the point at which the door opened and a familiar blonde stepped inside, though this time he wasn’t carrying a bow with him. Pietro tensed in response to seeing him and she said what both of them were thinking.

“What are you doing here?” 

She tried to remember the name she’d heard the others call him – Clint, she thought, the redhead had used – even though that wasn’t likely to help in this situation. The look in his eyes was one of concern, which didn’t exactly ease her worries. 

“Because I work here,” he said calmly, and took a seat across from them.

“You’re a cop?!” Her tone clearly registered her shock; he looked nothing like the cops she was used to seeing. Cops didn’t do things like carry bows and arrows. Cops didn’t work in tattoo shops. “What the hell?” 

“Look, kid, my occupation is besides the point,” he said. “I’m more concerned about getting you and your brother out of here as soon as possible.”

“Why the fuck would we go anywhere with you?” she questioned. “Why do you even care?”

A look that Wanda couldn’t quite name flashed in his eyes and was gone before she had the chance to fully analyze it, though his next words gave her a bit of a clue to what he might have been feeling. More than that, it increased her anxiety, because it suggested that he knew far more about them than she was comfortable with them knowing.

“Because I know what it’s like to be running from someone who hurt you.”

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” she said shortly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are we being charged with anything? Because it was self-defense and if we’re not being charged, then me and my brother are leaving on our own.”

A slight smirk curved his lips; Wanda wanted to punch that look off of his face. Clint said, “That would be difficult, seeing as neither one of you is 18 yet.” 

“Yes, we are,” she countered immediately, automatically. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “Your birthday is in two days.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. She visibly stiffened but all she said was, “You don’t know when our birthday is. Like I said, we’re 18. Why should we go with you anyways if you’re a cop? Why should we trust you?” 

“Technically I’m not a cop,” he said with a sigh. “Look, I know who you are. You’re Wanda and Pietro Talbot by adoption. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff by birth. Your adoptive father is Jonathan Talbot. Do I need to keep going?” 

She chanced a glance over at her brother, as he still hadn’t said a word yet. Pietro’s face had completely drained of color. She hoped that was due entirely to the shock of hearing that Clint knew who they were and who there father was, and not a sign that his injuries were even more significant than she already feared. Then again, she was fairly certain the pallor of his skin and look of horror on his face were reflected on her own as well.

“That… that man is not our father,” she choked out. “You’re confusing us with someone else.”

Pietro swallowed hard. “Yeah, you don’t know anything” but his voice was weak and unconvincing.

“I’m afraid I’m not,” Clint said, and the look in his eyes was pitying. “See, Detective Coulson ran your prints. Seems your dad made sure you were in the system when you were younger. The prints were flagged immediately.” 

Wanda felt as though she were choking. They’d been found. Her father would know where they were. They’d be sent back to him. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed Pietro’s hand. She pulled him upright and dragged him after her as she rushed for the door. Wrenching the handle from side to side quickly alerted her to the fact that the door was locked. Pietro attempted to slam a shoulder against it and seemed to regret that. His face completely drained of color and Wanda had to grab him to make sure he didn’t collapse – and she spun back towards Clint.

“Please let us go,” she begged.

“I can’t,” Clint said. “But that’s why I’m offering you a safehouse. I can bring you somewhere where your father won’t find you. No one will tell him where you are. Coulson’s not even going to know where I’m taking you. You’ll be one hundred percent safe.”

“Why the fuck should we trust you?” she snarled. “Let us leave on our own. We can’t stay here.”

“You’ll be caught if you leave,” he said. “I can guarantee that. Your father will tear this city apart looking for you, based on what I know about him.”

“So we’ll leave the fucking city,” Pietro growled. 

“He’ll have eyes on every form of transportation in and out. He’ll run a story on the evening news. There won’t be anyway for you to escape undetected, I guarantee it.” Clint exhaled slowly. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you this early because I didn’t want you to feel manipulated or as though I were purposely trying to scare you. But he’s already on his way here. The only way you’re getting out of here at all is if you leave with me.” 

Wanda couldn’t breathe. Pietro looked as frightened and furious and upset as she felt. Her fingers entangled with his own and she squeezed his hand and gave him a questioning look. He returned the squeeze and nodded the slightest bit, and she took a deep breath.

“Alright. We’ll go with you. Just get us out of here now.” 

-~-

Clint left the twins alone for a few minutes, as he checked to make certain their meager belongings were already in the trunk. He received confirmation from Detective Coulson that all signs that the twins had been there or indications of where they’d gone would be destroyed prior to the arrival of their father. Detective Coulson took the time to remind him that at this point he had exhausted all of his favors for the time being, which he accepted without argument. Making certain these kids were safe and cared for was worth missing out on the next new game months before the official release date. 

He paused long enough to call Natasha. The last thing he needed was to misjudge this situation – and her – and accidentally drag the twins into a worse position than the one they’d left. He’d spent a long time questioning whether he should even call her, given that Natasha had been distant and withdrawn over the past several days, ever since the incident with Barnes. Clint didn’t want to make things even worse. Still, it wasn’t as though he could think of a safer place to bring the twins.

“Hello, Clint, to what do I owe the offer of this late a call?” Natasha inquired upon picking up.

“You remember those kids who broke into Shield a couple weeks back?” he asked without preamble.

“Oh, the Maximoff twins? Yes, I remember them.” 

He shouldn’t be surprised that somehow Natasha was, as always, a few steps ahead of him. At the least, he didn’t need to disclose their identity now.

“Yes, them,” he said with a sigh. “How do you feel about harboring a couple of fugitives at your place?”

“Assuming the fugitives in question are those kids, I’m fine with it. I do expect further explanation at some point.” 

“Heard loud and clear,” he said in relief. “You think you could make sure Sam’s over as well? We need someone with a working knowledge of medicine.” 

“For you or them?”

“Them,” he clarified. “We’ll be there in about 20 minutes.” 

“Then you’re in luck, since Sam’s been here for the past couple hours.” He breathed a slight sigh of relief upon hearing that; at least Natasha hadn’t been alone while he was out dealing with this mess. “We’ll see you soon, Clint.”

-~-

From the point that they left the police station, tucked into the backseat of Clint’s car – Wanda had insisted on stretching out on the floor while Pietro took the backseat, each of them covered with a jacket as though that would actually hide them – everything had been a blur. The scraped and bruised areas of her body ached, not exactly helped by the cramped positioning in the car, and she could feel the exhaustion catching up and starting to take effect. 

A glance at her brother reminded her that she couldn’t afford to do that at this point. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and one of his eyes was already swollen shut. The fact that he’d remained silent throughout worried her all the more – he wasn’t the sort to give up and stop fighting and yet that seemed to be exactly what he’d done – which meant she had to keep it together because if things went badly, one of them needed to be capable of functioning. She reached for his hand, and held onto him tightly until the car stopped moving and Clint came around to help them out of the backseat.

Clint remained close to them as they walked up the front steps of the townhouse – which confused her, she couldn’t imagine that he had the kind of money to live in a place like this, since this area was ridiculously upscale – and she caught sight of their backpacks in his hands. The sight of them comforted her all the more; neither one of them had much but she didn’t want to lose what little they had. 

It didn’t occur to her that she hadn’t asked where they were going until Clint knocked on the door. It opened a few moments later to reveal the redhead who’d been with Clint at the shop that night. 

Pietro recoiled the slightest bit at the sight of her, despite the fact that her tone was welcoming as she said, “Come inside” and stepped back to allow them to enter. 

Wanda shared a look with her brother. Pietro raised a shoulder in what seemed to be a half-shrug, as though to say, “What other choice do we have?” Wanda personally agreed. Staying on the street wasn’t an option. Theoretically, based on Clint’s promises to them, they’d be safe here. Stepping inside, Wanda first registered the warmth and then a blur of colors and brief images – a staircase heading to the second floor, a kitchen from which she could smell the scent of something hot and mouthwatering, and then a set of couches and chairs surrounding a television, sitting on which there was a man she’d never seen before. 

The man’s eyes were dark and concerned as he greeted them. “Hey, you two. I’m Sam, a friend of Natasha and Clint. I heard you guys had a rough night.” 

He gestured for them to take a seat on the couch opposite from him. Wanda didn’t even bother to gauge her brother’s reaction before helping him over and getting him settled. She eyed the man warily – Sam, she reminded herself, because it was always important to know people’s names in case trouble happened later on. As far as she could tell, he had no hidden agenda, at least not one that was obvious. 

“A bunch of frat guys attacked us,” she said, when it seemed evident that Sam was waiting for some sort of a response. 

His look shifted to one of anger. She recoiled and tightened her grip on Pietro’s shoulder. 

Sam noticed her discomfort, and he quickly said, “I hate it when guys are dicks like that. I hope you both got some good hits in since it sounds like they deserved it.” He turned his full attention to Piero at that point. “You okay with me checking you out, kid?” 

Wanda looked to Pietro as well, taking in his appearance, and his crumpled posture and fully evident pain and exhaustion. She combed her fingers through his curls and gently said, “It would help. You’re hurt.”

The fact that Pietro didn’t even have the energy to argue wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Yeah, sure, whatever, man. You got any painkillers by any chance?” 

“I do,” Sam confirmed. “If you’ve got any broken bones, I might even consider giving you some of the good ones. You up for moving anywhere else or would you rather I just check you out here?”

“I’m pretty sure if I try to move, I’m going to end up on the ground,” Pietro groaned. “I’d rather just stay here.” 

“All I ask is that you try not to bleed everywhere,” Natasha said from the direction where Wanda had seen the kitchen. “We’ll give you your space while Sam’s patching you up and when he’s done, there’s pizza waiting for you if you’re hungry.”

Wanda shifted over the slightest bit to allow Sam more room to look Pietro over. She watched intently as Sam examined the cuts and bruises, cleaning off the dried blood and bandaging the injuries as needed. She tensed when Sam asked Pietro to take off his shirt to examine his ribs and glanced over her shoulder to check if Natasha had been honest when she said she’d give them their space. 

Pietro only hesitated for about half a second before he tugged his shirt over his head. Wanda stared straight at Sam’s expression to take in his reaction. Had she not been looking, she probably wouldn’t have noticed anything – there was a harder line to his lips and lines appeared around his eyes – but the man had the best poker face she’d ever seen; overall he controlled his reaction to the sight of the extensive scarring stretching across Pietro’s torso, bad enough on the front but ten times worse on his back. 

Instead, Sam focused on lightly prodding at the multiple foot-shaped bruises appearing across Pietro’s stomach and chest, while Pietro did his best to grit his teeth and stifle any sounds of pain. Wanda squeezed his hand, trying to encourage him to hold more tightly if that would mean better controlling his pain, and he just returned the squeeze and made no attempt to cling to her hand more tightly. 

Sam whistled lowly. “Man, they did a number on you. Looks like you’ve definitely got a couple of cracked ribs, which means I’ve got some painkillers with your name on ‘em.” 

“You a doctor?” Pietro asked. Wanda could tell he was just trying to distract himself from the pain.

Sam laughed at that. “No, not really. Worked as a medic when I was in the military. The pills you’re getting are my own, leftover from me being a dumbass and breaking my ankle a year or so ago. Pretty sure the expiration date’s already passed but they should at least take the edge off.”

“So, what’s the verdict? Am I gonna live?” Pietro asked. Wanda was relieved to hear a bit more of her brother in those words than she’d heard since they’d gotten jumped. 

“I’d say so. You’re gonna be hurting like hell for a couple of days. I don’t think you have a concussion but if you start experiencing dizziness, blurred vision, any nausea, let Nat know.”

Pietro raised an eyebrow as best he could. “Yeah? What if I’m already experiencing two out of the three?” 

“Then maybe I’ll be revising my opinion on the concussion and suggesting that you don’t sleep for a couple of hours and alert me if you start feeling worse.” He frowned the slightest bit. “As for your ribs, I don’t think there’s any internal damage but it’s hard to say without x-rays. I’m guessing there’s a good reason you two didn’t want to go to the hospital though.”

“No hospital,” Pietro snarled. Sam quickly held up his hands in an acquiescent manner. 

“Alright, got it, no hospitals. I’ll do what I can to tape up your ribs and just ask that you keep an eye on how you’re feeling and just make sure you tell me if anything is starting to feel worse.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Because I’m gonna guess you can tell when something’s normal pain and when the pain is signaling that something is very, very wrong.” 

Pietro’s expression darkened. “You’ve got that right.” 

He didn’t say another word or meet Sam or Wanda’s eyes while Sam finished patching him up, not until he was able to tug his shirt back on. At that point he murmured, “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it. Think you can hold on a little longer without the painkillers? Like I said, I’d prefer for you not to sleep for a few more hours if possible.”

“Yeah, I can handle it,” Pietro said, even though the tension in his body said otherwise. Wanda’s heart ached that she wasn’t able to do anything.

When Sam turned to her and said, “Alright, looks like you’re next” she couldn’t quite understand why he cared about her. After all, she hadn’t been hurt. There were no injuries. 

Except for the dull ache in her shoulder from where she’d landed or the lack of skin on her arm and elbow, which she remembered only when Sam nodded in that direction and said, “Looks like that could use some cleaning.” 

She dug her nails into her palm rather than cry out at the sting of alcohol and antiseptic and in a much shorter time than it had taken Sam to fix up her brother, she was bandaged and ready to go. Sam must have given Natasha the go ahead, given that she stepped into the living room a moment later with a small, black, furry creature in her hand.

Noticing the direction of Wanda’s gaze, Natasha explained, “This is Koschei, she’s mine. You’ll also probably see Lucky around. That’s Clint’s dog. She’s at Clint’s dorm room for tonight but she’s usually over a fair amount. You two want pizza first or would you like to see where your room is?” 

Pietro tiredly asked, “Can we just bring the pizza to the room?” 

“Sure,” Natasha said agreeably. 

While she grabbed the pizza – and apparently deposited the kitten she’d been carrying into Clint’s hands – Wanda helped Pietro to his feet, letting him lean on her when he swayed and trying to keep him steady as they walked towards the stairs. The room, when they reached it, was nice. Small, which as far as Wanda was concerned, was a good thing, and filled with a bed and a dresser with a small TV on it. On the bed there were two pairs of pajamas and a laundry basket placed on the floor.

“The bathroom’s down the hall,” Natasha explained. “I figured you could use some clothes that weren’t blood-stained to sleep in. I can toss your clothes in the wash, so you’ll have them for tomorrow. If you need anything, my room’s two doors down. Don’t bother knocking on the door in-between, that’s James’ room and he’s gone for the time being.”

“Thank you,” Wanda said automatically.

She waited until Natasha was gone to help Pietro out of his clothes – his movements were stiff and more restricted than they’d even been twenty minutes ago – and into the pajamas. As soon as he was able, he carefully settled himself down on the bed.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, this bed feels amazing,” was his immediate response. Wanda hurried to change herself so that she could see what he meant.

He was right. Any bed would have been amazing – not sleeping on the ground at all was a plus at this point – but the mattress and blankets were definitely not cheap. The mattress curved perfectly around her tired and sore body and the sheets were clean and crisp, with a blanket that would no doubt keep them perfectly warm. She allowed herself to enjoy the moment, gently nestling against her brother’s side and resting her head against his shoulder. He took the opportunity to slip his arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I missed this,” she murmured after a moment. “Actually being safe, in a real house with a bed and food. Not having to always watch our backs.” She lightly nudged him. “Speaking of food, I think Natasha left the pizza on the dresser. You hungry?” 

“I think I’m hurting too much to be hungry.” His eyes were closed even though Sam had told him not to sleep yet. “You should eat something though.” 

She hesitated, still stuck in the mindset where if he wasn’t eating because he wanted her to have more food, she wouldn’t eat either. But this wasn’t the case; they had plenty of food, right at their fingertips, and there was no reason not to eat if given the chance. 

“As long as you promise me you’ll stay awake,” she said softly as she rolled out of bed. 

One bite of pizza quickly turned into two pieces of pizza completely demolished, though she kept a close eye on Pietro throughout. He’d seemed to register her worried gaze, seeing as his eyes were open again and he watched her intently. Wanda abandoned the pizza once she realized her stomach was already in danger of protesting those two pieces – it wasn’t as though she could remember the last time she was able to eat that much at any given time. She chanced leaving him alone for long enough to sneak down to the first floor and ask Natasha where they could put the pizza – the answer was apparently the fridge – and then to ask Sam – who had been curled up against Clint on the couch when she came down – where the painkillers were.

Sam tossed her the bottle, while Natasha made certain to tell Wanda that she and her brother were welcome to any food in the fridge and sent her off with several bottles of water. Wanda returned to the bedroom, uncertain of what to even make of this entire situation. She handed Pietro one of the pills and a bottle of water. He took the pill and downed the water in less than a minute.

The next words out of his mouth were, “I don’t trust them” and she supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Don’t be so cynical.” Granted, she had no proof that there wasn’t any reason not to trust them but they’d been kind to her and her brother. “Just because people have betrayed us in the past doesn’t mean they will. After all, they didn’t call the cops the last time.”

“No one does anything for nothing,” Pietro argued. “They’re probably waiting to see if they can get the reward for returning us to our father.”

“I don’t think Clint would do that,” Wanda said, surprised by how certain she felt in those words. “And I don’t think he would have brought us here if he thought Natasha or Sam would turn us in. Besides, look at the house we’re in. Natasha doesn’t seem to need the money.” 

“Maybe,” Pietro said. She wasn’t certain whether to feel smug that she’d won the argument for the time being or concerned that her brother had given in that easily. “I guess we’ll see. If nothing else, at least we’ve got a real bed tonight.”

“And it’s warm and safe.” Wanda curled up beside her brother once again. “There’s even a refrigerator full of food that Natasha offered to us. We could make anything we wanted.” 

She rested her head against Pietro’s shoulder, and her muscles relax as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“We can even sleep in. We won’t need to worry about setting traps or having one of us stay awake to act as lookout.”

“Mm,” Pietro murmured in what she assumed was agreement.

She raised her head the slightest bit as his fingers stilled in her hair. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, all clear signs that he was starting to fall asleep. She thought back to Sam’s worries and his request that Pietro stay awake for a few hours and then discarded those concerns. She’d seen her brother in worse condition than he was in now. If something were wrong, she’d know.

Instead, she allowed him to sleep while she slid free of his arms and did one final check of the room. Despite her words, she wanted to make certain the door was locked, because old habits died hard. Then she set the painkillers and bottles of water on the nightstand, within easy reach, before returning to bed. She gently tugged her brother’s arm around her once again, her own arms carefully encircling his waist but mindful of his injured ribs. 

For the first time in years, she drifted off to sleep without feeling as though she had to keep one eye open.


	19. What's Done In The Dark Will Be Brought To The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Bucky return to center stage and alternate between being adorable and being angsty, Tony Stark makes his first on-screen appearance, the twins acclimate to life in the townhouse, and Natasha finds out (at least one of) Clint's secret(s).
> 
> Warnings for referenced/somewhat directly implied and described child abuse.

Every morning since that awful incident that Steve woke up to find Bucky had slept quietly throughout the entire night indicated that they were heading for a good day. It had barely been a week, at this point, with Halloween now only a day away. Since Steve brought Bucky back to his apartment, more nights than not, Bucky had pulled Steve out of nightmares of his own with terrifying, panicked screams. Steve grew accustomed to pulling out every technique Natasha had taught him – grounding, breathing, relaxation, anything that would bring Bucky back to the present and get his heart rate lowered. After the second night dealing with Bucky on his own, he hadn’t even considered calling Natasha to ask for her help.

Even when Bucky cried out for Natasha and Steve’s heart felt like it was going to break because evidently he wasn’t enough for him. He tried to rationalize it in every way he could – Bucky was used to Natasha, Natasha had been there the last time he’d been physically compromised and hurting – but no amount of rationalization made it sting any less. From what Steve could tell, Bucky didn’t remember saying these things when he was properly awake and aware. At those times, he always seemed happy and relieved and comforted to see Steve. 

But October 30th dawned with Bucky curled up against Steve, face burrowed against the side of Steve’s throat, breathing in and out evenly. The last thing Steve wanted to do was wake him but he knew if he didn’t move in a matter of moments, his alarm would go off and potentially act as a trigger for Bucky. Steve carefully extricated himself from the bed, taking care not to jostle Bucky too much in the process, reached over to the nightstand, and turned the alarm off. Bucky made a soft sound of displeasure as Steve moved and then stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he sleepily gazed up at Steve. 

Steve tried to curb his initial frustration and disappointment in himself for waking up Bucky. Instead, he softly said, “Morning, Buck. How’re you feeling?” 

It had been the same routine every day. Some mornings Bucky woke up coherent and alert, other mornings he struggled to focus and remained disoriented and out of it regardless of what Steve did to try to help. 

This morning, Steve’s hopes were raised when Bucky reflected on the question for a moment and then murmured, “Better.” 

“Yeah?” he asked encouragingly. 

“Yeah. I feel rested. I know where I am. The pain’s getting better. My head doesn’t feel like it’s about to cave in. It’s not hard to think.”

Steve tried not to show just how much of a relief it was to hear those words, or simply how grateful he was that Bucky was making perfect sense and sounded like himself. More mornings than not, he’d taken awhile to reorient, with Steve having to remind him of where he was and what had happened, and frequently even once he focused, his mental status was variable throughout the day. Steve would leave him in the morning, finally having gotten Bucky to the point of focusing, and return in the afternoon to find Bucky unfocused and dazed or crumpled in bed, far too sensitive to light or sound to even handle Steve touching his shoulder. From what Steve understood, all of that linked back to the original traumatic brain injury – compounded with the most recent addition to the damage. Steve just stayed with him, determined to ride it out until Bucky was capable of managing life again. From what Steve understood, the higher Bucky’s anxiety and stress climbed, the heightened chances that a migraine would take him down and out for at least the next 24 hours, so he did his best to keep Bucky calm and relaxed and stable.

Once or twice, he’d even come back from class to find Bucky crumpled in the bathroom, pale and shivering, trying to brokenly explain to Steve that his migraine had gotten so bad that he’d gotten sick. Steve had sat beside him at those times, smoothing back Bucky’s hair as much as he could with his still splinted fingers, and waiting until Bucky was capable of standing to help him back to bed. Once he could see that Bucky wasn’t on the verge of getting sick again, he’d made sure that all of those pills Natasha had left him with were properly down Bucky’s throat and stayed with him until he fell asleep.

This morning though, Steve had a good feeling. He just wished he wouldn’t have to leave Bucky on his own while he went to classes. Granted, he’d had to do that more than once over the past week, only missing class when he did not feel comfortable in the slightest leaving Bucky alone or with Darcy or Clint. But each time the decision of whether or not to stay weighed heavily on him. After all, the last time he’d left, he’d found Bucky broken and on the verge of killing a man.

“That’s good.” He lightly ruffled Bucky’s hair with the palm of his hand. “You look better.”

“Yeah, uh, that actually kinda reminds me of something I’ve been meanin’ to ask you.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair as though to put the messy strands back in place. “Between all of the sleeping and nightmares and flashbacks and dissociating and all of that shit, I didn’t think to ask but, uh, not that I’m not grateful? But how am I not sitting in a jail cell right now?” 

Although Steve had known the question was coming sooner or later – and, to be honest, had surprised that it hadn’t been sooner – this hadn’t been a question he’d wanted to answer right before he had to leave for class. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been silent until Bucky softly said his name. The look on Bucky’s face was one of concern. 

He exhaled slowly. “You’re not in jail because I made a deal with Rumlow. Said that if he wouldn’t press charges against you, I wouldn’t press charges against him. Got it writing and witnessed by Detective Coulson and one of the nurses on duty.” 

The emotions flashed across Bucky’s face faster than Steve could fully register them. Shock, he was pretty certain he saw, anger, regret, guilt, an entire mixture that primarily served to make Steve worry about Bucky’s mental stability if Steve was going to leave him alone. He waited for Bucky to speak, trying not to think too hard about what might be running through Bucky’s head, and what the prolonged silence might mean.

“Buck,” he finally said, when Bucky remained silent. “Buck, it was my choice. I wasn’t about to let them arrest you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry, Steve. If I’d been thinking, if I’d just… stopped… and waited… and told you instead of… instead of doing what I did and damn near killing the guy…” He trailed off, looking pained, and massaged at his temples with his metal arm.

“Hey, we can keep doing the what ifs, if you want. Like what if Rumlow had never jumped me for no fucking reason? What if he hadn’t been enough of a dick to show up at the shop of the guy he jumped for no reason? I can keep going if I need to but this wasn’t your fault.” He studied Bucky’s face for a moment before sighing. “Are you going to spend all day dwelling on this?”

The last thing Steve wanted was to come back to find Bucky either in a deep depression or crumpled on the floor, in too much pain to move because he’d overwhelmed himself thinking about everything.

Bucky reluctantly and somewhat sullenly said, “No.”

Steve lightly nudged Bucky with his shoulder. “I’m serious. I don’t want to leave you alone here if you’re going to be ruminating on this all day.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. Steve knew that immediately, even at the moment the words left his mouth, moments before Bucky’s expression shut down completely. So much for that good feeling he’d had just a few moments ago. 

“I’m fine, Steve,” he said, and the words were mechanical and wrong. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine here. Clint and Darcy are right downstairs. I won’t be alone.”

At that, Steve didn’t know what to do. He weighed the pros and cons for both sides. If he left, he’d be worried about Bucky the entire time and Bucky would probably be sitting there wallowing for the entire day. If he stayed, he’d be able to keep an eye on Bucky and be there for him, but Bucky would spend the day mentally beating himself up while Steve questioned whether or not he might fail out this semester due to the high number of absences. 

“Bucky,” he murmured. Bucky turned his head away. Steve sighed and very gently, very slowly, rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to help but I can see that I just made things worse.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky echoed hollowly. “I’m fine.”

Steve felt frustrated, both with Bucky and himself. Before he could respond, his computer chimed at him in alert that there was a new message. Given that he had the perfect opening for a distraction, he moved away from Bucky – hoping that a few moments of space and silence would help both of them – and maneuvered the mouse until he could see the message. 

Immediately, his initial theory that today was going to be a good day – despite the fact that Bucky still wasn’t even looking at him – strengthened. Steve relaxed as he realized he would no longer have to weigh the pros and cons of his decisions for the day.

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me today.” He turned away from the computer and back to Bucky. Bucky no longer looked away; instead, he studied Steve’s expression with a confused look on his face. “Classes have been cancelled. My professor’s sick.”

Bucky managed a faint smile at that and swallowed hard. “Then how about you get back into bed and we press rewind and see if we can start this day off a little better?”

Steve offered no arguments to that. He obliged and slid back under the sheets as Bucky moved over to make room for him. His muscles unclenched as he curled against Bucky’s side, and Bucky’s metal arm encircled his waist.

He almost missed the murmured, “I’m sorry” that came along with the brush of Bucky’s lips against his temple.

Steve didn’t hesitate before tilting his head up and kissing Bucky, pausing only long enough to whisper, “Apology accepted” before covering Bucky’s lips with his own once again.

-~-

_Have they burned down your place yet?_

Clint tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited for Natasha to respond. First, he’d waited as long as he could before leaving for work, and eventually gave up when the twins hadn’t showed any signs of waking up or coming out of the room. Since he left, he’d been unable to stop worrying. Maybe Pietro had needed medical care and had slipped into a coma or died during the night. Maybe the two of them had snuck out of the window. Maybe they had lit the place on fire – after all, there had been rumors about the circumstances under which their adoptive mother had died – and burned the entire townhouse down in the hour since Clint had left.

His phone sent off of a short burst of AC/DC – “Hell’s Bells,” to be precise – and he glanced down at the latest text he’d received.

_Checked on them, still asleep. I left a note reminding them where the food is before heading to class. You seen James yet this morning?_

For as worried as he was about the twins, he had no doubt that Natasha was ten times more concerned with Bucky. Since Bucky returned to staying with Steve in the apartment over the shop, she’d texted Clint multiple times throughout the day asking about him and made every excuse she could to stop by to check on him herself.

As far as Clint was concerned, Bucky was functioning well above expectations. Sure, he was spacey and all of that but he hadn’t been secluding himself in the apartment for the most part, which was a step up from how he’d been when Clint first met him. Granted, Clint saw him less than Darcy did, since with both Steve and Bucky out of commission, Clint was the only person seeing clients in Shield at this point; but Darcy hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about him either.

That said, it occurred to Clint for the first time that he hadn’t seen Bucky or Steve that morning. Judging from the time reflected on the clock on the wall that meant Steve was exceedingly late for class or skipping class for the day. That concerned him since he knew the days where Steve had been late or missed class entirely, it had been because Bucky was having a rough morning. Maybe Natasha did have a reason to be this worried.

_Did you check to make sure the twins were both still breathing? Haven’t seen Bucky or Steve yet. Want me to check on them?_

The response came barely 30 seconds later – to the point where he wondered how Natasha managed to text so quickly (and coherently) when he was lucky to avoid typos and damning autocorrects when he took his time.

_Of course. I don’t want to be arrested for killing two kids. Yes. Make sure they’re okay._

Clint sighed and got to his feet just in time to hear the sound of the door to the apartment open and close above them and two pairs of footsteps make their way down to the ground level.

“Being a delinquent, Rogers?” he called out before Steve and Bucky even had the chance to come into view. 

“Always, Barton,” was Steve’s response.

That statement seemed quite applicable when Steve stepped into the lobby, wrapping a scarf around his neck that primarily seemed to be designed to cover up the rather impressive amount of hickeys darkening his skin rather than for the purpose of warmth. The expression on Bucky’s face was far too pleased as his handiwork was covered up.

“Wow, Steve, I’m impressed,” Clint said. “Missing classes to hook up with your boyfriend. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

Darcy offered her two cents by whistling appreciatively. “Nice job, Robocop.” 

Bucky grinned. Clint was relieved to see that the expression was more genuine than the somewhat forced attempts at happiness had been over the past several days. Upon actually studying him, Clint could see a few other marked differences – Bucky had apparently taken the time to shower, given that his hair was still damp, and he seemed to have actually picked out the outfit he was wearing rather than just throwing on whatever clothes he’d happened to find – which was also encouraging.

“I hope it doesn’t destroy the reputation I’ve got going, but classes were cancelled for today,” Steve said. “So I figured the best option was to go back to bed.”

“Yeah, you did,” Darcy said with a smirk.

Clint nodded and leaned over for a fist bump for that one.

“And now we’re going out for breakfast,” Steve continued. “Want us to grab you anything while we’re out?” 

“Coffee,” Darcy and Clint both said, almost in unison.

“We figured,” Bucky said, speaking for the first time since he and Steve had come downstairs. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Have fun,” Darcy encouraged. 

Clint hoped they would.

Despite the fact that he’d been fairly impressed with Bucky’s overall functionality given everything, Clint knew that the past few days hadn’t been easy on him or Steve. He’d seen the shadows beneath Steve’s eyes. He’d registered Bucky’s almost constant look of pain and discomfort. He’d know that things weren’t okay – and how could they be? – but it seemed as though Bucky and Steve had finally moved from coping adequately to getting back to normal. 

Natasha would certainly want to know about this development. Which meant that Clint tapped out, _They’re more than okay. Hickeys all over Steve’s neck. Just went out to breakfast. Barnes is smiling._

He just hoped the twins were doing as well.

-~-

Bucky was wary of everything – from the actual atmosphere of the restaurant Steve was leading him to, to the level of light and sound and stimulation out on the street, to the migraine that recently always seemed one step away from hitting and leaving him incapacitated, blinded, and in agony – yet that hadn’t been enough to stop him from agreeing to Steve’s offer. He wanted to be normal, not the broken shell of a human being he’d been on and off for well over the past year. Being normal meant going out to breakfast with his boyfriend; even if he hadn’t been able to stomach food since his latest set of injuries.

The diner was, thankfully, mostly empty at this hour, and Steve headed straight for one of the back booths without even needing encouragement from Bucky. For the first time, he realized that Steve was fully aware and cognizant of Bucky’s little quirks, like always needing his back to a wall in public places where he could survey everyone in the area and every action – he’d already noted five potential exits by the time he sat down – and while he couldn’t quite decide whether that was healthy for either of them, he was still grateful. Steve had even chosen the booth where Bucky’s injured right arm would be closer to the wall, providing him with an extra layer of protection.

Surprisingly, Steve slid into the booth on the same side as Bucky rather than across. Instead of feeling pinned in and trapped, Bucky found that he felt comfortable and at ease. He didn’t experience any reflexive flash of panic when the waitress handed them their menus – particularly at the beginning of re-acclimating to life, his memory and attention problems led him to become anxious because making a decision as simple as what to eat for a meal was more of a production than it was for most people. Even though he had no idea what this menu included, he figured there was something on there close enough to his preferred meals.

It also occurred to him that for the first time since his recent altercation with Rumlow – or, as he’d preferred to think of him as “Crossbones” since human garbage didn’t deserve a name – the thought of food didn’t make him feel vaguely sick. He knew Steve had been worrying over the past few days because he’d been picking at his food and eating less than even Steve was aware of; he couldn’t help it. Whether it was the headaches or the medication or the overall damage, Bucky just didn’t have an appetite and 90% of what he did manage to eat ended up vomited back up later on. 

Today though, everything sounded delicious, particularly the meal options that included pancakes or French toast and eggs and sausage or bacon. He took the time to scan his body, to make certain he wasn’t getting ahead of himself, but there were none of the usual warning signs to alert him to any concerns. His body seemed willing to accept food and even more shockingly, to enjoy a full meal.

Steve rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder for a moment, then lightly nudged him to get his attention before gracing Bucky with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

For the first time since that awful day, Bucky was genuinely happy.

-~-

The bell above the door jingled. Clint glanced up, hoping that it wasn’t Steve and Bucky returning early, since that would mean that something unfortunate happened. Instead, he was faced with a man dressed in a three-piece suit, which looked ridiculously out of place in a tattoo shop, though the man himself was unfortunately far too familiar. 

“Hey, head boss,” Darcy greeted him as he stepped inside the waiting room. 

He was followed by another familiar face, though this one was more preferred by Clint. Although they didn’t share any classes, he’d heard through the grapevine that Pepper had scored the job as Tony Stark’s secretary – though he could not even begin to imagine what would make her want that type of job. 

Tony greeted Darcy and immediately disrobed, which Clint found rather alarming and Pepper found insulting, given that Tony’s immediate action was to hand his jacket to her. Personally, Clint found that she handled it well by raising her eyebrow in a questioning fashion and refusing to take it.

Tony asked, “C’mon, Pepper, just for a moment?” 

“I’m your secretary, not your maid, and it’s not going to catch on fire if you put it down elsewhere, like on the couch right there,” she replied.

Tony looked less than pleased but obligingly rested the jacket there before starting to unbutton his shirt. 

Clint couldn’t stop himself. “Tony, I know your rep, but could you please keep your clothes on? You’re going to frighten the clients away.”

“I’m not stripping, Barton,” Tony said mildly and, as he finally shrugged off his button down shirt, Clint could see that he was wearing a black AC/DC Dirty Deeds t-shirt underneath. “I was trying to dress more appropriately for the location. I came from a meeting.”

“And you couldn’t have changed in the car?” Clint questioned. He received a glare in response. 

It occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t be antagonizing Tony when, come to think of it, there were some questions he had about the twins that Tony could probably answer. As a result, he rapidly switched tactics. 

“Not that it’s not great to see you. How’ve you been? What’s brought the head of Stark Industries to Shield today? Thinking of finally getting a tattoo done?”

“I’m here to talk to Rogers,” Tony said. “Although, come to think of it, what are you doing here?” 

“Steve didn’t tell you?” Clint asked. “After he got jumped a couple weeks back, he hired me on as a temporary replacement until he’s able to tattoo again. He kinda doesn’t have great use of his hands at the moment.” 

“Really,” Tony said. That one word was heavy with many unsaid implications, none of which were particularly good. “That’s great news to have. Would’ve been nice if he’d mentioned that to me himself or if you’d mentioned just how bad things were when we talked Darcy.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Darcy said easily. “Clint’s been doing a good job. You can check his file and portfolio if you’d like. I put all of the paperwork into his file myself so I know it’s there and good to go.” 

“There’s no respect anymore,” Tony said in what was far too much a sweeping generalization, as far as Clint was concerned. “Rogers doesn’t even tell me when he’s hiring someone new or when he’s got a boyfriend. Please tell me he’s not dating you too, Barton.”

“No, we’re both already spoken for,” Clint said. “Anyways, Steve’s out with Barnes for the moment.”

Tony sighed. “Is he? That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to talk to him since he seems to be keeping me out of the loop from telling me about his new hires – you included – and recent assaults happening here and outside of here. Not to mention break-ins and boyfriends and all sorts of exciting things. Speaking of which, anything else that I should know about before he comes back or am I now, finally, all caught up to date?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Clint said. “I’m pretty sure that about covered the action around here lately.” 

“Good to know.” Tony sprawled on the couch he’d previously placed his jacket on. “So, when is Rogers expected back?”

Clint glanced at his watch. “I’d say half an hour. You think it’s worth it to wait or would you rather come back later?”

“I don’t mind hanging out here,” he said after a moment’s reflection.

Pepper sighed. “Tony, you know you have a meeting in an hour.”

“We can reschedule,” he said flippantly. “They’ll wait.” 

“They’re Stark Industries' biggest investors,” Pepper pointed out. “But this is your call. Do you want me to reschedule them to your next available appointment time? Or see about moving around some of your other meetings to see them sooner?” 

“That’s up to you. I trust your decision-making. That’s why I hired you.” 

Pepper looked utterly exasperated. Then she painted an incredibly forced smile onto her face and asked Clint if she could borrow his office to have a quiet place to make those calls. Clint obliged, asking Darcy to walk Pepper back there, and took the moment he was alone with Tony to pick up the paper, flashing the front page, which proclaimed that Jonathan Talbot’s missing children had been found in the city.

“You hear about this?” he asked.

“Yeah, I couldn’t turn on the news, check my email, or do anything else without seeing something about that,” Tony said. “Crazy that they were able to disappear from the police station without anyone seeing them.” 

“You ever run into them before?” Clint asked innocently. “I mean, I’m guessing you used to see them at events, since Talbot was your dad’s big competition when you were younger.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony agreed. “My mom was under the misguided notion that I should be best friends with them, which made no sense since I was four years older than them and already more interested in the trouble I could get into at those events than making new friends. Kinda regret that after what happened the last time they were there though.”

“What happened the last time?” Clint asked with a frown. 

“For starters, it was after their mom died. Talbot got real mean after that and it didn’t help that the kid, I mean the boy, had a major mouth on him and coming from me, that’s saying something. Last time I saw them, we were at some sort of fundraiser or expo, I can’t even remember. In the middle of everything, just as all eyes were on them, the boy went off like I’ve never seen. It was fuckin’ amazing. At the time, I wished I’d had the balls to say that kinda shit to my dad although I can guarantee if I’d ever talked to him the way Talbot’s son talked to him – especially at a public function - I wouldn’t still be breathing. Which… now that I think about it…” he trailed off for a moment.” They disappeared a couple of months later. To be honest, I always wondered if disappearance wasn’t the right word for what happened with them.”

“Whoa.” Clint didn’t have to fake how taken aback he was by that statement. “You’re suggesting that he might’ve killed them?”

“Sure,” Tony said with a shrug. “The man had a reputation.”

“What kind of a reputation?” 

“Just that Talbot has connections. We all do, though. I mean, am I right, or am I right?”

“What kind of connections?” Clint felt like he was playing 50 Questions. Still, this information was helpful and probably going to be useful later on.

“Mostly with the mob,” Tony said flippantly. “I was never sure which branch. Might’ve been Italian or Russian. Maybe even the Irish. Who knows? Nothing I’ve ever been able to get definitive proof on. Otherwise I probably would’ve found a way to make that knowledge public.”

Despite the fact that the shop was perfectly warm, Clint suddenly felt as though he’d been submerged in a bucket of ice water.

Well then. That was a complication he hadn’t seen coming.

It seemed as though he’d finally gotten in over his head.

-~- 

Steve wrapped the scarf more securely around his neck, as much to hide the bruises all over his skin as to keep himself warm. The last thing he needed was to get sick. He kept an eye on Bucky as they walked, noting any unevenness in his gait or sign of strain, but Bucky seemed properly energized – or, at the least, his feet weren’t dragging - and he was still all smiles. 

Bucky had eaten the majority of his plate of food, which Steve was encouraged to see. Not only that but he’d smiled readily, laughed a few times, and flirted with Steve throughout the meal. He’d almost seemed back to being the person Steve had gotten used to after those initial few weeks, once Bucky had started to warm up and show more of his full personality. Sure, while at the restaurant he’d been scanning the area the entire time, noting any potential threats – of which there were none – and he was still doing the same now that they were on the street, but that hadn’t taken him out of the moment entirely.

Still, Steve hadn’t wanted to push things too far. This was the most activity he’d seen from Bucky in days. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally set him back. With Bucky’s mood being so variable on the best of days, exhausting him probably wasn’t going to help matters. Particularly given the headaches Bucky had been experiencing on an increased basis since the last injury, Steve figured an hour out was more than enough for him at this point. Going back to Shield meant some downtime for relaxing and resting.

At least that was Steve’s logic until he stepped inside the shop and saw the man dressed in the contradictory clothing articles of an AC/DC t-shirt and suit pants, comfortably sprawled across the couch in the waiting room. For an instant, Steve questioned whether it made more sense to shove Bucky back out the door and head to Natasha’s townhouse or something like that. Bucky was unstable enough already, he didn’t need to walk right into an interrogation. 

Then again, this was bound to happen sooner or later, and he doubted Bucky was up for walking all the way to Natasha’s townhouse anyways.

Instead, he focused his attention completely on Tony. “Hello, Stark. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Before Tony had the chance to respond, he quickly added, “No interrogating our new piercist either. You have to schedule ahead for any interrogations.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow at the boundaries Steve had set but merely said, “Good to see you too, Rogers. I figured it was time to stop by seeing as you seem to be incapable of keeping me informed on the goings on in my shop. Darcy told me there were assaults and break-ins and boyfriends and all sorts of fun things happening here, and not just over the past week, which I could’ve understood.” 

He rose to his feet and studied Bucky for a moment before extending his hand to him. “You must be James. Glad to finally meet the recipient of the arm Natasha blackmailed me for. Looks good on you.”

“Uh, thanks?” Bucky seemed moderately uncertain of how to respond as he shook Tony’s hand with his metal one. “You must be Tony Stark.”

“The one and only,” Tony said with a grin.

“Thank God for that, the world couldn’t take two of you,” Steve muttered under his breath, and was rewarded with a mild glare from Tony’s direction. “So, Darcy’s apparently filled you in on everything. What exactly were you still confused about?” 

“Where the trust went, Rogers,” Tony said, and his tone turned a bit more serious. “I’m financing this place. I need to know what’s going on here. I need to know when you’re out of work because some guy jumped you. I need to know when one of your employees assaults a client in the shop. I need to know that you’re dating one of the employees, both for personal and professional reasons.” 

Steve glanced to Bucky and then back to Tony. “Then that’s something you only need to discuss with me and something I am more than willing to set up a meeting for. I’m sorry for not keeping you in the loop lately. A lot’s been on my mind and for some reason, I figured you might be more focused on running your company than what’s going on in your extra-curricular activity of bankrolling a tattoo parlor. Particularly given that you paid for this entire place with the intention of having me tattoo you, and you’ve never followed up.”

“All in good time,” Tony said, waving off Steve’s concern. His gaze shifted to Bucky, and Steve automatically tensed. “So, James. You seem like a good guy. Also, you’re friends with Natasha and she’s scary as hell so I’m not about to say anything bad about you. Not to mention that Darcy tells me that the guy you beat up was the same guy who attacked Steve. I can respect that, even if that wasn’t exactly the kind of press I was hoping this place would get. You run into any trouble, legal or otherwise, because of it and I’ll be more than happy to help you out.”

“Thanks for the offer, Stark, but I don’t take handouts,” Bucky said a bit stiffly. “I can handle the situation on my own.” 

Tony seemed a bit surprised, then rather impressed, and just laughed. “I like you. Fair enough. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

It was at that point that the harassed looking redhead stepped out of the back where the offices were and fixed Tony with a stern look. 

“Are we done here? Or do I need to cancel your next meeting as well and risk the financial stability of the empire your father built?” 

Tony made a face and reached for the button-down shirt and suit jacket lying on the back of the couch. “Point taken, Pepper. Yeah, we’re done here. Rogers, I’ll be in touch over the next few days. Just try not to hire anyone else new without at least mentioning it to me first. Think you can manage that?”

“I think it’s feasible,” Steve said with a slight grin. “Can’t promise I’ll follow up on it, but at least I’ll have the thought in the back of my mind now. Call me if you ever want to schedule that tattoo of yours, although it’ll probably be a month before I’m back to work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony said. “As long as you keep in mind letting me know if there are any further repercussions to the recent incidents at Shield.”

After a few more choice words and goodbyes, Pepper managed to herd him out the door. Bucky’s expression was hard to read. He seemed to be having a hard time figuring out what to make of Tony or how he felt towards him, which Steve couldn’t blame him for. Even after his years of knowing him, spending time around Tony was like being sucked into a black hole.

What surprised Steve more was the fact that Bucky didn’t seem to be the only one thrown off by Tony’s appearance. Clint’s expression was dark and troubled, in a way that Steve wasn’t used to seeing, and he was rapidly sending out text messages. 

When he spoke, his words didn’t seem congruent with the expression on his face. “Hey, Barnes, and I guess Rogers too, since this is your place? Nat asked if she could stop by later. You guys okay with that?” 

Steve glanced at Bucky for a response to that.

Bucky merely shrugged. “Of course we are. We’ll see her later.”

“Good.” Clint looked strangely relieved by that.

Steve hoped that didn’t mean more trouble.

-~-

“With all of this duct tape, plastic bags, and massage oil, I’m starting to feel like I’m in the middle of a really awkward adult film,” Bucky said. 

“First of all, it’s not massage oil, it’s bubble bath, and unless you want a soaked and damaged cast, the duct tape and plastic bags are your best bet to enjoy this evening,” Natasha said. She added another layer of duct tape to the mess of plastic wrap that already decorated his right arm. 

Bucky resignedly rested his head against Steve’s shoulder as he watched Natasha finish up the work on his cast. She’d shown up shortly after closing, with a bag of supplies in one hand, and a bag of Chinese takeout in the other. Her arrival had woken him up from a fairly pleasant nap. She’d seemed a bit concerned at first, which he didn’t blame her for, since his body was more intent on falling back asleep than reorienting to reality. Still, he’d been worse, much worse, over the past few days. If anything, things seemed to be on the upswing at this point.

A cup of tea and plate of Chinese food later and he’d been significantly more functional, which all led up to this moment. 

“I’m still a little unclear on what’s happening here,” Bucky grumbled. “Why exactly are you taping me up? Is this some new form of torture?”

“Yes, because I love torturing you,” Natasha said simply. 

“And I enjoy watching,” Steve agreed, tilting his head to brush his lips against Bucky’s forehead. Bucky was, admittedly, grateful that Steve honestly did not seem to mind that Natasha was there to apparently pamper Bucky in the way Steve couldn’t, given his broken fingers.

“You’re both sadists,” he muttered.

“Yet you love both of us.” Natasha put the final strip of tape around Bucky’s cast. “Alright. You’re good to go. Stay here while I get the water going.”

Bucky took the opportunity to devour another egg roll while he waited and was somewhat surprised when Steve said, “It’s really good to see you eating again. I was starting to get worried you’d need a feeding tube at the rate you were going.” 

There was the flicker of something akin to guilt as he shifted position so that he could study Steve’s face. He noticed how dark the area around his eyes looked – a clear sign that Bucky hadn’t been the only one with restless nights lately – and although Steve grinned the smile barely reached his eyes. Immediately, all Bucky could think was how much of a drain he was on everyone who cared about him, and particularly as he reflected back on his disagreement with Steve that morning, he couldn’t help but feel disgusted with himself.

“Shit, Steve. I’m sorry. I hadn’t even realized how much I must’ve been worrying you lately.” 

“Would you stop apologizing? It seems like you’re always apologizing for something.” Steve’s expression turned serious. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I can handle it. I don’t mind looking out for you.”

“Yeah, but your fingers and everything else and…” Bucky trailed off. He could tell that his face was fixed in a scowl, which just made him more frustrated with himself. “I just… I didn’t realize. I was so stuck in my own head.”

“Which I totally understand,” Steve pointed out. “You’ve been recovering, Buck, and that’s fine. You’re doing the best you can. I can’t expect more than that.”

 _But I can,_ Bucky thought darkly to himself. 

Thankfully, that was the moment when Natasha stuck her head back out and informed them, “The bath’s ready.” Then, noticing the atmosphere in the room, she added, “Am I interrupting anything?” 

“Nah,” Bucky said and then did his best to lighten the situation. “I’m just moping and being self-deprecating, like usual.”

“My sympathies, Steve,” Natasha said. “I’ll leave the bubble bath here when I leave. Seems like you might need it more than me.” 

Steve managed a half-smile at that. Bucky leaned in to press a kiss to his lips and murmur, “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to make it up to you tonight.” 

Steve’s lips curled into a genuine grin. “I’m sure you will.”

-~-

By evening, Pietro was reasonably certain that they’d either stepped into a trap or that he was dreaming because this entire situation was far too good to be true. He’d slept in and woken up to find that the bed had kept his battered body from locking up during the night, and that he felt rested and comfortable. Knocking back a couple of painkillers decreased all of the pain to a reasonable level and he’d wandered around the house, checking all potential entrances and exits until Wanda had pointed him in the direction of the fridge. 

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he had the opportunity to choose from a wide variety of foods and eat as much as he wanted. The two of them had made a full breakfast – eggs, sausage, hash browns, and toast – more food than, in retrospect, they could actually eat. They’d saved the rest for later and Pietro’s mind still couldn’t comprehend the fact that they didn’t need to eat any of the perishables. 

Still, he couldn’t help himself from snagging some of the bread and chips and sneaking them into his backpack. He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t seen Wanda do the same. After all, old habits died hard.

Each of them had taken a shower and he’d been amazed at the wide variety of shampoo and soap – some disgustingly flowery, admittedly, but there were others that were less girly that he guessed belonged to James – and the hot water had felt fucking amazing against his bruised and broken body. Granted, it meant that Wanda had to help him re-bandage everything afterwards, but he didn’t mind. Nor did he mind exchanging his threadbare clothes for the second pair Natasha had left for each of them. Sure, the clothes were all too big on his skinny frame but he could pull the drawstring on the sweat pants tight enough to keep them on, and the fact that the t-shirt was hanging on him really didn’t bother him.

The two of them had spent the afternoon curled up on the couch, flipping through the channels – which provided them some much needed information about what their father was planning. The man had gone on every news and talk show, begging and pleading for any information about his children and the news reports indicated several searches were in play and all forms of transportation were being monitored. Pietro forced himself to watch even though he had to fight the urge not to be sick each and every moment he saw his father’s face or heard his voice. 

They then switched to more pleasant entertainment when they couldn’t take anymore of that. The black ball of fur - Koschei, Wanda said was his name - joined them for most of the day. While initially Pietro would have sworn cats were among his most hated animals, he had to admit that the kitten was growing on him. On an even more positive note, they spent those hours munching on food when they got hungry, and Pietro stuffed himself until Wanda lectured him about eating to the point of getting sick. 

All in all, Pietro was just starting to think that this situation was exactly what they’d been hoping for, when the front door opened. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was around 6:00 – and he and Wanda had been wondering when Clint or Natasha would come back – and then he registered that the footsteps on the foyer sounded off. Uneven. Wrong.

He warily got to his feet, glancing around for the nearest weapon – a poker from the fireplace – and positioned himself in front of Wanda as they cautiously made their way towards the front door.

“Hello?” Wanda called out, and he angrily motioned for her to be quiet. 

They had no idea who might be out there or what might be going on. The last thing they needed was to alert someone to their presence in the home. Pietro wondered whether their father might have already been able to find them – maybe Clint had left a trail at the police station, maybe Natasha had sold them out – and his blood turned to ice in his veins as he considered those options. For an instant he hesitated. He looked towards the back door and calculated the benefit of bolting in that direction, leaving their bags and possessions behind, and then considered whether there would be a way to reach their room and grab their belongings before running. 

“It’s me,” a voice said and, despite the fact that the words were barely audible, Pietro recognized Clint’s voice. 

Still, he continued to move cautiously, the fire poker still in his hand, as he rounded the final corner. He stopped short and stared at the scene in front of him in horror. Beside him, Wanda gasped, though she seemed to recover quicker than he had, seeing as she immediately hurried to Clint’s side. 

Clint’s face seemed to be more blood and bruises than skin and his shoulders were hunched, his arm wrapped protectively around himself in a way that suggested broken ribs to Pietro. For an instant the image blurred in front of him and Pietro had to fight to stay in the present – reliving those previous moments wasn’t going to do anyone any good at this point, and after all, it had usually been his face getting broken in like that; Talbot never wanted to disfigure his sister that badly – and then Wanda’s voice brought him back.

“Pietro, there should be a medical kit in the bathroom. Check under the sink.”

He forced himself into action, leaving the fire poker within Wanda’s reach just out of force of habit, and went to track down whatever medical supplies he could. The thought of calling the police or an ambulance only crossed his mind for half a second; it was still 24 hours before their 18th birthday and while it might have been selfish, he wasn’t about to jeopardize their lives and freedom.

Even if Clint was the only reason they weren’t with their father now.

Even if he couldn’t just stand back and let Clint die. But that was jumping to extreme conclusions. Clint might be fine. 

Ultimately, Pietro knew that if he had to, he would call for an ambulance. It might mean running again but at least they wouldn’t be caught here. He had no doubt that it would be hard to remain hidden with the entire city on alert and looking for them but they could manage. They would manage. They always had before.

He had to wonder how they’d ended up in this situation. Things weren’t as perfect here as he’d been led to believe.

-~-

Bucky had to admit that Natasha’s version of self-care was comforting, calming, and all-around making him feel like a normal human being again. The bubble bath – the bottle of which she’d abandoned in favor of something that she insisted was known as a bath bomb – smelled like lavender and peppermint. Bucky had no doubt that if he weren’t careful, he’d end up falling asleep in the water. 

Natasha hadn’t helped matters by breaking out a bottle of massage oil and working on the back of his neck, muttering all the while about how he always held his tension there and how that wasn’t going to help with his headaches. After the first few moments, he stopped listening because whatever her hands were doing felt magical and the constant pressure in his head decreased to a manageable level for the first time in days. Within a few more moments, he’d forgotten how his body was a connected whole because as far as he was concerned, his body was now boneless and moving was impossible.

He was brought back to reality by Steve’s voice. 

“I didn’t know he made those sorts of noises outside of the bedroom.”

Bucky strongly considered dragging Steve into the bathtub with him for that comment, despite his one working arm and all of the splints on Steve’s fingers.

“Fuck you,” he said mildly.

Natasha pointed out, “Poor choice of words, James.” Then, to Steve, said, “If you’re looking for a way to help with his headaches, neck massages and aromatherapy work best. I know you can’t right now because of your fingers, but I figure I might as well pass along some of the tricks of the trade.”

“Mm, speaking of which – not that I’m complaining – what brought you over here tonight?” Bucky murmured. 

Natasha’s hand stilled on the back of his neck – the first indication that something was wrong – followed by her words, which provided the second clue. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” Bucky cracked his eyes open and met Natasha’s worried gaze. “Nat, what’s up?”

“Clint told me that you were having one of your bad days. Headaches, vomiting, unable to get out of bed, all of that.” She pulled back the slightest bit, and glanced over her shoulder at where Steve was standing in the doorway. “I’m going out on a limb and guessing that wasn’t the case at all.”

Steve shook his head. “No, Buck’s been doing better today. Slept all night and woke up feeling good this morning. We even went out to brunch because he was doing so well. Sure, he was a little tired after all of that, so he slept for a couple of hours, but he wasn’t doing badly.”

“Shit,” Natasha said. Then, a bit more angrily, “Shit. I’m going to fucking kill him if someone else hasn’t already.”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked, his earlier sense of calm quickly evaporating. 

“Clint lied to me. I think he’s in trouble – hell, I think he’s been in trouble for awhile – and if he lied to me, that means he’s gone out to do something stupid. I’m sorry, James, but I need to head back to the townhouse.”

“No problem, Nat,” he said quickly, cursing his broken arm for preventing him from climbing out of the bathtub – although, in retrospect, pulling a full frontal in front of his boyfriend and ex probably wasn’t the best life decision. “You want me to walk back with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my car out front. I’ll text you when I get back.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Bucky said uncertainly.

“I am.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Take care of yourself, James.”

Bucky watched her go. His sense of unease increased the moment he heard the front door shut behind her, despite the lingering scent of peppermint and lavender in the air. 

“Never a dull moment,” Steve murmured, as he took Natasha’s previous spot beside the bathtub. 

Bucky refused to let himself dwell on all of the “what if” thoughts going through his head – what if something happened to Natasha on the way back, what if something had happened to Clint, what if something happened to both of them, what if, what if, what if - and offered Steve a tired smile.

“You can say that again.”

-~-

Natasha almost left the driver side door to her car wide open as she leapt out, intent on getting inside as quickly as possible – then, she barely remembered to lock the car as she bolted for the front door – but somehow all of her security measures remained intact. She noticed the trail of blood, almost imperceptible because of how far apart the drops were, leading up to the front steps, and was grateful to see that at least Clint hadn’t left any blood stains on the front door or siding – because she had no doubt at all that this was his blood.

She checked the front door – it was unlocked – and found that all the more unnerving. Inside the foyer, there was more blood, this time in a slightly higher concentration, but no one was visible. A moment spent listening indicated all sound came from the living room. She hurried in that direction, and found a bloody and bandaged Clint sprawled on the couch with the twins crouched beside him.

Upon hearing her footsteps, both whirled around – Pietro wincing as he did – and looked panicked to see her standing there. Pietro quickly positioned himself between his sister and Natasha, while Wanda stammered, “We… we didn’t do this. We didn’t hurt him. Please believe us.” 

“Yeah, he came in like this,” Pietro said. “We’ve been trying to help.”

“I know.” Natasha stepped past them to get a better look at Clint. Ignoring them, she gripped Clint’s hand and asked, “What happened to you?” 

“Got mugged,” he said.

She fought the urge to shake him. She had no doubt that was a lie.

“That’s what you’ll tell the doctors at the emergency room,” she murmured. “I want to know what actually happened. Where did you go tonight? Why did you lie to me? I don’t like it when people lie to me, Clint.” 

The look in his eyes was one of blind panic. Natasha couldn’t have been more surprised than he apparently was himself when he blurted out, “I went to talk to my contact. In the Russian mob.” 

Both of the twins recoiled. Pietro snarled something in Romanian that Natasha gathered was some sort of curse, and then he shoved Wanda towards the stairs, this time saying in English, “We need to get out of here.”

“Don’t move,” Natasha said, and though she’d barely raised her voice, something in her tone was enough to stop the twins in their tracks.

Still, that wasn’t enough to stop Pietro from saying, “We know about our dad. If Robin Hood has contacts with the Russian mob too, this isn’t a safe place for us to be.” 

“Clint wasn’t going to them to sell you out. He isn’t working for them, are you, Clint?” she questioned, and returned her attention to him. 

He started to shake his head and stopped himself just in time. “No. I’m not working for them. I’ve been undercover for the last year. I wouldn’t have sold you kids out to them. I was trying to get information about what Talbot’s planning. Thought we might be able to stay a couple steps ahead of him.” 

Natasha looked back to the twins. Wanda seemed relieved, while Pietro was still looking skeptical and wary. 

She sighed and said, “I need the two of you to promise me that you won’t run while I take Clint to the hospital. I give you my word that you’ll both be safe here. I can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe out there.”

“I know,” Pietro said quietly. “We saw the news earlier. We know that our father’s ripping this city apart, trying to find us.” 

“We’ll stay,” Wanda added. “We know our chances are better here than out there.” 

“Thank you,” Natasha said, her voice softening the slightest bit. “I’ll call you with any updates. Assuming Clint hasn’t broken himself too badly, we should be back in a couple of hours.” 

As she helped Clint to his feet, letting him lean on her as they headed out the front door – and she reminded the twins to lock the door behind them – she had to wonder when her life had gone from regular college student to dealing with runaways and the Russian mob. 

Then again, at least she knew what Clint had been hiding from her over the past several months. Knowledge would help and if she wasn’t mistaken, she had some ways of her own to help with this situation.


	20. This Is Your Last Dance And Your Last Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some questions are answered, the twins have a nice birthday, and the gang celebrates Halloween.

Halloween dawned cold and cloudy with snow flurries, though there was little chance any would stick for more than a few seconds at most. No alarm clock was set because Steve had no classes, and Natasha had sent a text to Bucky the previous evening to let him know that Clint would not be coming into work that day. As a result, Darcy was given the day off because it wasn’t as though Steve would be tattooing anyone with broken fingers and Bucky wasn’t about to try piercing anyone one-handed. She’d texted back that she was heartbroken over not getting to show off her Halloween costume to them all day but was pleased because it would leave more time to prepare for going out with Jane, Thor, and Loki to Tony Stark’s Halloween party. Bucky was personally grateful for the lack of alarm, given that he’d had a hard time falling asleep due to his racing thoughts.

Bucky and Steve spent the morning curled up in bed together; Steve nestled against Bucky’s chest, Bucky’s metal fingers threading through Steve’s hair while they watched the flurries drift down outside. Bucky had absolutely no desire to move until Steve’s stomach growled, and he realized that he was somewhat hungry himself. Convincing Steve to get out of bed took some effort – not that Bucky blamed him, since Jesus Christ, the apartment was cold outside of the cocoon of blankets – and Bucky wasn’t exactly willing to leave the warmth of the bed and comfort of Steve pressed up against him. 

Once out of bed, Bucky spent about half a minute debating whether he might be up for cooking. He decided that the stress of going out for breakfast would be less than trying to cook one-handed. Not that he wasn’t skilled with one-handed cooking – he’d had to learn while he was waiting for the prosthetic to be finalized and fitted – though admittedly that was with his right arm and not his left and he was out of practice. He had a feeling his ambidextrous tendencies would only take him so far. 

He spent the rest of that half a minute staring at his cell phone and debating texting Natasha; all he’d heard from her the previous evening was that she made it home safely, Clint was less than okay, and he would not be coming into work. There was no doubt in Bucky’s mind that things were significantly more complicated than that, which worried him, but he also recognized that Natasha wasn’t likely to respond to prying. She’d always been more willing to disclose information when she could do so voluntarily. Not to mention that if last night had been as rough as he hypothesized it had been, he didn’t want to wake her up with a morning text to check up on her.

Bucky fought the urge jump in the shower and wash away the lingering scent of peppermint that still clung to his body thanks to the bath bomb and massage oil combination. Knowing his luck, going outside with wet hair would cause pneumonia and that would somehow get Steve sick as well and both of them would end up bedridden for weeks. A glance in the mirror – his first full appraisal of his appearance in days – informed him that not shaving in a week had led to him looking scruffy and rough, not that he was going to do anything about that this morning. If nothing else, he would need to shave before seeing his psychologist the next time. The last thing he needed to do was show up looking like this. Come to think of it, he wondered whether he’d already missed one of his appointments, although he couldn’t remember seeing any messages on his phone to indicate that.

As he tugged on his clothes and layered up, he noted the snow falling outside and reminded Steve to bring his inhaler. 

Steve’s response to that was to roll his eyes and mutter, “Yes, mom” but Bucky was relieved to see him slip the inhaler into the pocket of his leather jacket.

It wasn’t until Bucky was trying to track down where he’d left his wallet that Steve asked, “Do you think everything’s okay with Nat and Clint?” 

Bucky glanced back towards him, to see Steve chewing on his lower lip worriedly. He curbed his initial impulse to insist that everything was fine. Steve would see through that and, besides, Steve deserved more.

“No, I don’t think they’re okay,” he said honestly. “I think something’s been going on with Clint for awhile. I don’t know what exactly, I just know that he’s shown up at the townhouse looking banged up and broken more than once over the time I’ve known him. As for Nat… she’s got a lot on her plate already. I think she can handle it but I wish… I wish she didn’t have to.”

What he didn’t say was how responsible he felt for the pressure Natasha had been experiencing. He had no doubt that taking care of him over the past several months hadn’t exactly decreased her stress level. He could recognize that these were probably more on the unhelpful thoughts side of things - he’d learned enough in therapy to differentiate between helpful and unhelpful thoughts – but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Steve rested a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Hey, I can see you starting to beat yourself up. Don’t. Natasha does what she does because she cares. You’re doing your part to get better and you’re doing the best you can. Don’t blame yourself because she wants to support you.” 

Bucky managed a small smile and tried to shake those thoughts away. “You’re right.” 

Of course, those thoughts were immediately replaced with worries related to Steve’s feelings about Natasha’s continued presence in Bucky’s life. By which point, Bucky was rapidly becoming frustrated with himself for being unable to remain in the present moment and being taken over by his thoughts again.

“Buck?” Steve said, and his voice was gentle. “It’s okay. Just focus, alright? You still up for going out to breakfast?”

Bucky nodded and took a deep breath, determined to banish all of those thoughts from his mind, at least for the time being. “Yeah, breakfast sounds great.”

-~-

In the end, Clint couldn’t tell whether the pain woke him up or waking up just reminded him of the pain. All he knew was that his face felt swollen and broken and the rest of his body wasn’t doing a whole hell of a lot better. He must have made a sound of pain because then there was a hand on his shoulder. He was pretty sure someone was probably saying something to him but he didn’t have his hearing aids in.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure where he’d left them. There was a lot about the previous evening that he wasn’t quite sure of. Like what he’d said to Natasha. He was pretty sure it was something he would regret, something really stupid like telling her almost everything. 

That made him consider just pretending he hadn’t actually woke up or that the pain had been bad enough that he blacked out. Anything he could do to delay the inevitable conversation was a good thing. Unfortunately, that didn’t work so well, given that a moment later he felt the familiar shape of his hearing aids pressed against the palm of his hand. He reluctantly put them in. 

“Barton, I know you’re awake.” 

He groaned and reluctantly cracked open his eyes.

Natasha sat right beside him, staring at him intently with her eyes narrowed. He closed his eyes once again because he knew he wouldn’t manage to speak if he met her gaze. Still, he couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t surprised when Natasha broke the silence once more.

“Seriously, Barton? The Russian mafia?”

So, he had told her that much. He tried not to consider what Coulson would say when Clint mentioned this slip up to him. Then again, maybe he could avoid mentioning anything, except for the fact that he got his ass handed to him again.

He was on the verge of just taking out his hearing aids because Natasha couldn’t force him to listen to her lecture but then she spoke again.

“Did it ever occur to you that _I’m_ Russian? Did it ever occur to you that you might need some help so that you don’t _die_? Did it ever occur to you that if you did die, that would fuck me up?” 

Clint ignored the last two sentences because he didn’t even know how to respond to them. “Yeah, Nat, I noticed you were Russian. I just didn’t think you had connections to the Russian mafia.” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Natasha said coldly. Then, before Clint could even formulate a response, Natasha forced two pills into his hand. “Here, take these. You’re about an hour or two past your next dose. Since you were sleeping quietly, I hadn’t wanted to wake you up.”

“Thank you.” He hesitantly cracked his eyes open again. “That’s more than I deserve.” 

“I know.” She handed him a glass of water. “We’ll talk once you’re in less pain.” 

As Clint swallowed down the pills, he wondered just how long he could claim continued pain before Natasha called him out on his bullshit; still, anything to delay the rest of this conversation as much as possible.

-~-

For the second time in as many days, Steve found himself sitting in the same booth in the diner. Thankfully that booth was still open, given that the diner was a bit more lively on this day – apparently many of the students either didn’t have classes like Steve or were cutting class for the holiday – and Steve noticed quite a few differences.

In particular, his gaze fell on Thor and Loki, the former dressed as his namesake, the latter in his typical attire, who were sitting a few booths away. He wasn’t entirely certain why he found himself more focused on them, rather than the others in the diner, although the fact that Thor was carrying around a giant hammer might have had something to do with it, as did the fact that those were the only two familiar faces he recognized.

The waitress made sure to tell Steve and Bucky about all of the specials for Halloween: something called scary face pancakes that seemed mostly geared towards children and then pumpkin pancakes and pumpkin spice everything for the adults. Bucky teasingly encouraged Steve to choose the scary face pancakes – noting that he could probably pass a child if he tried hard enough – and Steve stuck his tongue out, like the mature adult he was, and went straight to his usual choice of meal, as did Bucky, although he ordered a cup of pumpkin spice coffee that he informed Steve tasted like sugar and pumpkin, with a dash of milk.

As the meal progressed, Steve’s attention kept returning to Thor and Loki, at first he thought, because of Thor’s ridiculous costume. As time went on, he noticed that Loki kept glancing in Steve and Bucky’s direction and looking curious. Steve tried not to think too much about it – there could be an endless list of reasons that Loki was turning his attention in their direction, the least of which being that he was tired of listening to his brother – but something about it made Steve uneasy.

Bucky, for his part, did not seem to be picking up anything out of the ordinary, which reassured Steve somewhat. He was fairly certain that if there were something off, Bucky’s hypervigilance would have picked it up by this point. Instead, he tried to focus on his meal and spending time with Bucky – Bucky who, for the second day in a row, actually seemed fully functional – and the fact that he had this day off. 

Bucky’s phone chirped and he glanced at it before saying, “Nat’s invited us over for the evening. Wanna go? It’s not going to be anything fancy. Just some PTSD-friendly Halloween movies, food, candy, and company.”

Steve registered the unspoken, And we might find out what happened with Clint last night and quickly nodded his agreement. 

He was distracted from the conversation by a slow, measured voice. “Hello, Steve. It’s good to see you again.” 

Bucky tensed against him as Steve looked up to see Loki standing beside their table. A glance beyond revealed that Jane had joined Thor at their booth and was greeting him with a kiss, which may have explained why Loki had stepped away, to give them some privacy, or at least that was the best Steve could figure out at this point. Loki’s expression was hard to read, almost as though he were wearing a mask that radiated concern and compassion when the emotions underneath were not quite matching up.

“Hey, Loki.” Steve tried to figure out the last time they had even spoken directly to one another with more than one or two sentences. 

“I had just wanted to see how you were doing. I’d heard through the grapevine about what happened to you and your hands. Such a tragedy. I hope that your shop is doing well in your absence.” 

“It is, actually,” Steve said quickly, almost defensively. “We’ve hired another tattoo artist to cover while I’m out and I should be getting back to work within the next few weeks.” 

“I am so very glad to hear that,” Loki said. “It appears that your shop has had some difficult times over the past few weeks. I hope all of those are in the past and the future is much brighter.” 

“Thank you,” Bucky said. Steve noticed that his tone was somewhat cold and emotionless, something he would not have expected. It made Steve question whether he was the only one who felt that there was something off about this conversation.

Loki said his goodbyes and returned to his table, with Steve and Bucky watching his every move as he rejoined Thor and Jane, and the trio left the diner.

Steve finally glanced at Bucky and murmured, “Did that seem weird to you?”

Bucky nodded. “I don’t know why, but there was… something about that. Almost as though he was… gloating? “

Steve nodded. “I felt that way too.”

He tried to figure out what might have raised the red flags for both of them at this point. After all, Loki had never done anything to Steve – he knew that Rumlow was the person who’d attacked him – so why did he feel as though there was something off about this situation?

-~-

Natasha was relieved to find that the twins were still in the townhouse – admittedly barricaded in their room – but at least they hadn’t made an attempt to run during the night. After several attempts at knocking on the door, Pietro grudgingly opened it a matter of inches, enough that Natasha could see him and his sister.

“What do you want?” he asked warily.

“I wanted to see if you were interested in anything to eat. I figured you’d probably been up for a few hours and might actually want food.”

“We’ve got food,” Wanda said, and her tone was guarded. “We don’t need anything.”

Natasha tried to curb her frustration. Already, she was on the verge of losing her temper completely because of the bombshell Clint dropped on her the previous evening, and now she had to try to coax two terrified kids out into a situation they now deemed as dangerous. She had no doubt that if she didn’t maintain her composure, there would be no chance of repairing things with the twins.

“I know you’re upset over what Clint said last night,” she said. “However, you need to know that you are in no danger while under my roof. No one’s going to get to you here. As of today, from what I’ve seen in your records, you’re officially eighteen, which means that Talbot has less control over you.”

Wanda and Pietro shared a look, and Pietro pointed out, “That just means he can’t get to us by convincing the police to turn us over because he’s our legal guardian. We know he’s got ties with the Russian mafia and they’re not going to care if we’re eighteen or not. They’ll turn us over to him regardless.”

“Which is why me and Clint talked about the fact that it might help if the two of you didn’t look so much like yourselves,” Natasha said. “Pietro, Clint’s guessing that you probably weren’t going exactly for that particular hair color. Don’t glare at me, he’s the one who said it, I’m just the messenger.”

“I was going for white,” he said sullenly.

“Good, then that’s the color I’ll get.” She turned her attention to Wanda. “What about you? Ever consider dying your hair?” 

Wanda’s brow furrowed as she considered the question. “Red, I think. Not like your color though, no offense. I was thinking a darker red.” 

“Darker red I can do.” Natasha slid a handful of catalogues through the still small crack in the door. “I figured you could also use more clothes that are actually in your own sizes. Consider a new wardrobe half of your birthday present. Pick out what you like.” 

“How the hell do you have the money for this?” Pietro blurted out. “I mean, seriously? You live in what looks like a multimillion-dollar house, you’re feeding the two of us on top of yourself, and now you’re offering to buy us clothes and hair dye and all of that? Who the hell are you? Bruce Wayne?” 

“I’ve got friends in high places,” was Natasha’s only response to that. “Now then, do you actually want me to bring you food or would you rather handle that yourself?”

The twins exchanged another look before Wanda said, “We can handle that ourselves but, um, I’d just wanted to ask… about Clint. How is he doing?” 

“He’s resting.” Natasha curbed the impulse to sigh at the mere thought of Clint. “The doctors expect that he’ll heal up just fine, as long as he doesn’t do anything else stupid, which is debatable. You’re welcome to check on him yourselves if you want. I’ll be out for a few hours.”

She turned away before adding, “Oh, by the way, we’re having guests tonight” and promptly ignored Pietro’s yell of, “What the fuck do you mean we’re having guests tonight?” as she walked off.

-~-

Wanda waited until Pietro was busy cooking in the kitchen to sneak up the stairs and knock lightly on the door to Natasha’s room. There was a faint, “Yeah?” followed by “Come in” when she made no attempt initially to open the door, and she hesitantly stepped inside. Clint was curled up in the bed with Lucky sleeping against his side and Clint’s fingers combing through her fur. Wanda winced when she saw the bruised and bandaged skin on his face. She couldn’t stop her mind from flashing back, even for a moment, to those times when she’d walked into a room to find her brother looking much the same way.

“Hey,” she said uncertainly. “I just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing.”

“I’m on a metric fuckton of painkillers so I’m pleasantly high,” he said and made an attempt at a grin that just resulted in him wincing. “Wasn’t sure I’d be seeing the two of you again after last night. Glad to see you didn’t run.”

“Where would we go?” she pointed out. “Besides, I still don’t believe you’d sell us out. Not after everything you’ve done for us. But… but I want to know how you got involved with the mafia. I still don’t understand things.”

Clint’s expression visibly indicated that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have at this point but Wanda refused to back down unless he said those words to her. After a moment he sighed and said, “I’ll try to summarize. I, uh, I got into a lot of trouble when I was younger and by younger I mean even when I started college. I did stupid shit like smoke a lot of weed and sometimes do things that would probably be classified as illegal. With those sorts of activities, I was pretty well connected and after Detective Coulson busted me one too many times, I was given the offer of working undercover. It’s a pretty sketchy situation. I don’t even know who Coulson has told about it, but I’ve been doing it for the past couple years. I kinda fucked up along the way though and to make a long story short, I managed to piss off the Russian mafia. Which pretty much leads to where things are today.”

“But you’re not actually involved in the Russian mafia?” she asked. “That wasn’t why you took us in, right? Because you knew about all of that?”

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “I took you guys in for the reasons I said I did. Because I know what it’s like to be in your position. Because I don’t think any kid should have to go through that and I wanted to help.”

She hesitated before asking, “What do you mean you were in our position?”

“And that officially makes too many questions, kid. Let’s leave that saga for another time.”

She accepted the response with a nod. “Would you like us to bring you food?”

“No offense but if your brother’s the one cooking, I don’t trust his food. There should be a pizza still in the fridge. Just toss a few slices on a plate and I’ll be good to go.” 

She was almost out the door before she turned back and said, “Thank you. For everything. We’d be back with Talbot if it weren’t for you.” 

Clint easily said, “Don’t mention it” and then, as she’d almost closed the door behind her, she caught the words, “Happy Birthday, kid.” 

-~-

“So, Clint got mugged,” Sam said. His tone was skeptical.

“That’s what he told me,” Natasha said with a shrug. “I have no reason not to believe him.”

As she spoke, she replied to the tenth text message from Tony Stark, trying to convince her to come out to his party that evening, because he clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. She settled on reminding him of the blackmail material she’d gotten two years ago when she’d attended his Halloween party. She doubted she’d receive another response. Sam’s next words brought her back to the present. 

“Except for the fact that he seems to get mugged pretty often,” he pointed out. 

Natasha somewhat regretted not having this conversation with Sam earlier, such as when they were walking around the aisles of Target, given that with Bucky and Steve coming over soon – and she needed to have an entire conversation with them about the twins before they arrived – they didn’t have much time for dawdling.

“That’s a question you can ask him. Maybe he’ll give you a different answer than the one he gave me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure if you couldn’t get the truth out of him, I’m not likely to have much luck.” 

“Probably not,” she conceded. “But there’s always a chance.” Then she nudged him and added, “C’mon, we’ve only got about two hours to get the place set up and the twins ready to go.”

Sam gave her a skeptical look but obligingly picked up their bags of purchases and followed her inside.

-~-

“That was weird,” Steve said.

Bucky agreed, “That was definitely weird.”

Those words had been uttered every hour or so, each time one of them thought back on their encounter in the diner with Loki, usually followed by some attempt to analyze the situation and figure thing out. This time though, before Steve or Bucky could try to hypothesize what might have been going on, Bucky’s phone rang. A glance at the caller ID revealed that it was Natasha and Bucky automatically answered it.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Hey yourself, James,” she said. He immediately registered that she sounded frazzled, which wasn’t typical for most conversations with her. Natasha was one of the calmest people he knew, at least given how she usually showed her emotions. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah, we were just getting ourselves ready to head over to your place. What’s up?”

“There’s something I should probably tell you before you come over,” she said. He caught what might have been the tail end of a sigh included in those words. “I’m guessing you’ve been watching the news? Heard about how those twins who tried to rob Shield a couple weeks back are Jonathan Talbot’s kids and he’s trying to find them?’

“Yeah?” he said, uncertainty as to where this conversation was going turning the word into a question. “What about them?”

“They’re at my townhouse right now,” she said, without any preamble. “Clint brought them over a few nights ago. There’s a lot more to this situation than I’m willing to go into over the phone but seeing as you still partially live here, I figured you’d need to know at some point or another. Tonight seemed to be a good time to tell you.”

Bucky found himself completely at a loss for words and finally just said, “Okay, thanks for letting me know. We’ll see you in an hour.” 

“I’ll try to explain more later. See you soon, James.”

She hung up and Bucky turned back to Steve, still trying to formulate his thoughts after that brief conversation. Steve’s brow was furrowed and he looked concerned, which Bucky couldn’t exactly blame him for after everything that had been happening recently. 

When Bucky didn’t readily offer an explanation for the phone call, Steve asked, “What’s up?”

“Remember those two kids who tried to break into Shield? The ones that we’ve been seeing all over the news the last couple of days?” 

Steve nodded. 

“Apparently they’ve been at Natasha’s house for the past couple of days. I guess they’re staying there for now.”

“Seriously?” Steve looked incredulous. “Why? How?” 

“I have no idea. Nat said that Clint brought them there. She did promise to explain more later.” 

Steve exhaled slowly. “Alright. I mean, I guess it’s good to know they’re safe, given everything.” 

“That’s something,” Bucky agreed.

Steve hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure you’re able to handle all of this on top of everything?” 

Bucky forced himself to swallow back every defensive comment that almost came out in response to that question. He reminded himself how bad things had been over the past few weeks. He reminded himself how much he struggled each and every day on good days, even when things were going well. He tried to keep in mind the fact that Steve had been taking care of him consistently and had every right to be worried.

What he finally managed to say was, “I don’t think Natasha is going to drag me into this situation anymore than she has to, so I think I’ll be okay.” He coupled his words with a smile. “I promise, Steve. You don’t need to worry. At least not about that.”

Steve’s expression radiated guilt, which made Bucky realize that his attempts to hide his emotions probably hadn’t been the best he could have managed. 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know what it’s like to have people asking you those sorts of questions.”

“But I get it,” Bucky said quickly. “I know you’re just worried about me.” This time his smile was a bit more genuine. “Now, c’mon, let’s get ourselves ready and head over there. It should be a good time tonight.”

-~-

Natasha checked, double-checked, and triple-checked that everything was in order as she waited for Bucky and Steve to arrive. She’d set up a giant cauldron of candy in the front yard to deter trick-or-treaters from knocking on the door. The twins no longer had their natural hair color, which both seemed quite happy about, although Pietro had looked a bit like an angry cat while they were trying to rinse the dye out of his hair, and Natasha had decked each of them out in a pair of jeans and t-shirt combo that actually fit them, unlike their borrowed clothes. She’d also provided each of them with a brand new iPod, filled with music, as well as gift cards and labeled those birthday presents.

Granted, the twins seemed all the more suspicious but they accepted their gifts with a muttered thank you apiece. That was enough to keep Natasha mollified. Sam had primarily been upstairs, keeping an eye on Clint who was back to sleeping. As far as Natasha could tell, Clint had only given Sam the mugging story, which Sam still wasn’t buying. 

As she waited, she made the calls – ordering half a dozen pizzas and some Chinese food – and put the finishing touches on the birthday cake she’d bought for the twins. With a few bowls filled with the leftover candy that she hadn’t left in the cauldron out front and several rounds of jello-shots cooling in the freezer, she figured that everything was in order for this party. The biggest difficulty would be making certain that the twins didn’t get into any of the alcoholic beverages. Then again, she should also probably be monitoring Bucky and Clint’s intake since at least one, if not both of them, were still on painkillers.

When the doorbell rang, she abandoned the vat of adult, alcoholic cider she had been in the process of making to open the door for Bucky and Steve. Both of them were dressed warmly – and she noted that the snow was still falling outside, though barely anything was sticking – and she hurried them inside, kicking herself for not sending Sam to pick them up given Steve’s propensity for illness.

Natasha greeted both of them and offered to take their jackets. That was around the point when she heard an audible gasp from the top of the stairs. She glanced up to see the twins crouched up there. There eyes were wide and both looked uneasy.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Pietro spat out. “What the hell are either of them doing here?”

“Pietro and Wanda, I’d like for you to meet Steve and James. James would be the conspicuously absent roommate who lives in the middle room.”

“But I thought you both lived above the shop,” Wanda said, looking confused.

“I pretty much do now,” Bucky acknowledged. “But Nat’s been nice to enough to keep my room open for me in case I want to visit or spend a couple of nights here. Nat told me that the two of you are some of our new roommates.”

The twins exchanged another look. Pietro said, “For now, at least,” at which point the two of them abandoned their post and made their way down the stairs. 

Natasha figured that Bucky and Steve could probably handle the twins, at least for a couple of minutes, and headed upstairs to check on Sam and Clint. 

“Try not to kill each other before I come back,” she called back down to them. “Oh, and if you want to set up the TV, there’s a pile of pre-screened Halloween movies that shouldn’t traumatize anyone.” 

She left the twins eyeing Bucky and Steve and hoped against hope that her townhouse wouldn’t be on fire anytime soon.

-~-

A few hours later, everyone was sprawled in front of the television. Boxes of pizza decorated the table and parts of the floor, as did plates with half-eaten slices of cake from the twins’ birthday cake, and a few glasses of alcohol. By this point, they’d gone through half of the movies – starting with _Hocus Pocus_ , following it up with _Beetlejuice_ , throwing in _The Addams Family_ for good measure – and now, the one horror movie Natasha was fairly certain everyone could handle was playing. After all, she’d watched _Halloween_ with Bucky since he came back from Iraq and he hadn’t had a bad reaction to it that time.

For the first time in days, maybe even weeks or months, everything seemed to have settled down. Steve and Bucky were curled up on the giant beanbag chair she’d brought in to allow enough room for everyone to sit. Bucky’s metal arm encircled Steve’s shoulders and Steve was pressed against his side, staring intently at the movie. Bucky, for his part, kept sneaking glances at Steve every so often and looking utterly enamored each time. She’d kept track of how much each of them had eaten and was pleased that both of them seemed to have regained their appetites for the time being. In particular, she was relieved to see Bucky taking proper care of himself, given that he hadn’t been doing the best job of that recently.

Koschei curled up against Bucky’s right shoulder. Despite initial bitching and whining, Bucky seemed to have acclimated to having the kitten kneading at him and purring in his ear. Perhaps that also had something to do with the fact that both Bucky and Steve had a few drinks that night. Of course, she’d made them promise to spend the night after the alcohol consumption, which she’d already been planning on doing, given everything that had been happening recently, as well as the fact that it was too cold and miserable outside to walk back to the apartment if they didn’t have to. 

The twins were on one of the couches; Pietro stretched out – probably to put less pressure on his injured ribs, now that Natasha thought about it – his head resting against his sister’s legs. Every so often, Wanda would comb her fingers through her brother’s white hair. Both seemed content, though that might have been because they’d snagged a couple of the jello shots when they thought Natasha wasn’t looking. She probably should have stopped them, but after everything they had been through and the fact that it was their birthday, she’d decided to let it go.

They’d been surprised and somewhat awkward when Natasha brought out the cake. Wanda had made the heartbreaking disclosure that over the past several years, their birthday had been celebrated with one stolen cupcake on good years and nothing on the years when that wasn’t possible. Natasha silently vowed to herself to do everything she could to prevent that from ever happening to the twins again. 

Sam and Clint had joined her on the other couch and Clint was curled up on his side, using Natasha as a pillow and Sam as a footstool. Neither of them minded. He’d drifted off to sleep shortly before _The Addams Family_ came to an end and remained out when they switched over to legitimate horror with _Halloween_.

She took another sip from her glass of vodka, easily her fourth one of the evening, and reached for Sam’s hand. She had no doubt that once the festivities downstairs came to an end, Sam would carry Clint up to their room and they would find other ways to enjoy their evening, potentially with or without Clint depending on his ability to function. 

She refused to think about the Russian mafia or everything that had happened with Bucky and Steve recently, or the fact that everyone in the city was looking for the two kids living under her roof. Instead, she focused on the horribly dysfunctional family that seemed to be developing around her.

If Halloween was this much of a success, she could only imagine what Thanksgiving and Christmas might be like this year.


	21. Maybe I'll Burn A Little Brighter Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Bucky and Steve have appointments with their respective doctors, Steve finally has the splints removed from his fingers and struggles with continued repercussions from his injuries, and Bucky and Steve actually talk about their relationship. Sounds like a nice chapter, right?
> 
> Trigger warning for the use of homophobic slurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and reuploaded version of the chapter here.
> 
> Once again, apologies for the delay in the posting and now posting a revised chapter. This week has been rough.

“I don’t know where to start,” Bucky admitted, unable for the first time in months to meet Dr. Jones’ eyes. 

He’d felt sick ever since he’d discovered he had missed his last appointment – the great thing about those first few days after the injury was the fact that his memory was shot and he kept losing time. Apparently, he’d deleted the message from his phone. It hadn’t been until Dr. Jones called him a second time to find out what was going on with him that Bucky had realized his mistake. With his mind an insidious and self-destructive trap, he’d spent the day between the call and his scheduled appointment beating himself up on a consistent basis and ruminating about his perceived failure.

The fact that he also looked completely wrecked didn’t exactly help things. Sleeping last night hadn’t been in the cards – he’d tossed and turned and had a few nightmares – and his stomach hadn’t been allowing food that morning out of anxiety regarding having to disclose everything that had happened recently. He’d thought about shaving but that seemed like too much effort. Even though he’d taken the time to shower, pick out an appropriate outfit, and make sure his hair was somewhat manageable, Bucky was pretty sure that between the scruff that was verging on being a beard and the circles beneath his eyes, he wasn’t looking particularly healthy.

“How about with what happened to your arm?” Dr. Jones gently offered. 

“Yeah, uh, that’s part of why I haven’t been around lately. And why I missed my last appointment. There was a bit of an incident at Shield.”

When he didn’t offer further information, Dr. Jones prompted, “What happened?”

“Y’know how I mentioned what happened to Steve a couple weeks back? The fact that some fucker broke his fingers?” He realized belatedly that he couldn’t even remember if he’d seen Dr. Jones since that point. “Shit, I hope I told you that. The past few weeks have all pretty much blurred together at this point.” 

Dr. Jones nodded encouragingly. “Yes, you mentioned that to me.”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief before continuing. “Anyway, that asshole showed up at Shield for a piercing and I… I did something very, very stupid.”

All at once, he felt ridiculously ashamed of himself. He’d always taken care to think through his actions, to not get aggressive, even when that seemed like the appropriate response to a situation he deemed particularly threatening. He’d spent months working with Dr. Jones to manage his emotions and his impulses to prevent things like this from happening, and in that moment, all of his hard work had been for nothing. This wasn’t even going back to square one, this was going back somewhat beyond square one, into negative numbers. 

“What did you do?” Dr. Jones asked.

“I dissociated and assaulted him.” Bucky’s voice broke. “I… I lost control in a way that I haven’t done in a long time. It… it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been at first, I guess. I didn’t feel in control but I also didn’t feel out of control. I was able to stop myself from hitting him with my metal arm. But… but during the fight, he broke my arm and, uh, he hit me pretty hard in the head. I don’t know exactly what happened then. I’d… I’d been trying to hold back, like I said, but he’d hurt my good arm and I just… I snapped. Started hitting him with my metal arm. Could’ve killed him. Almost did.” He cleared his throat, still studiously avoiding meeting his psychologist’s eyes. “Anyways, I spent the night in the hospital and things have been pretty rough since then, which was why I completely forgot that we had a session scheduled. I guess I got that voicemail you left but, well, as far as I can tell, I must have listened to it and then deleted it. Those first few days after the, uh, incident were pretty much a blur though. Don’t have much memory of what I did or said.”

“That’s a lot to go through in one period of time,” Dr. Jones said, his voice gentle and calming, just as always, which decreased Bucky’s anxiety and shame the slightest bit. “There’s a lot of questions I have, but to start with, I wanted to know if you have followed up with your physician since the head injury.”

“I have. We’re keeping an eye on everything. I’ve also been trying to keep track of my good and bad days on my own, at least as much as I can, to figure out if anything’s been getting worse.” 

“That’s good. Please keep me informed if there are any developments in that area. You know we can always schedule further neuropsychological testing if necessary.”

Bucky nodded and managed to move his eyes at least a fraction of the way up from the floor. 

“Now, James, what were the repercussions for those actions?” 

“So far? None. Steve made a deal with the asshole that he wouldn’t press charges, if that fucker agreed not to press charges on me. That’s how I managed to escape any jail time. Biggest repercussion so far has been the physical damage and the fact that I can’t work. I obviously don’t know if further repercussions might be coming though.” 

“At least that set of stressors is not on the table as of right now,” Dr. Jones said. “How have you been coping with the situation?” 

“It varies,” Bucky acknowledged. “Some days I’m doing really well. Other days I’m a mess. Nat and Steve have been trying to make sure I engage in self-care and take my meds and all of that, so that’s helped. They’ve been taking good care of me. I’ve also been using all of the tools and techniques we’ve worked on here to keep myself grounded, challenge my unhelpful thinking, and calm myself down when things get too rough and I feel like my control is starting to slip.”

“That’s good. It sounds like you’ve been working really hard to keep yourself stable after this incident. What about the dissociative episode that happened right before you assaulted the man? Has anything like that happened since that time?” 

“No, nothing like that,” Bucky said quickly. “I’ve lost time here and there but I think that’s been more injury related. I… I had some pretty rough moments that night in the hospital but I don’t believe I got aggressive at any point.” 

“James, I’ve known you for quite a few months now. Do you feel that I need to do a risk assessment on you based on these recent events?” Dr. Jones’ voice was calm but concerned.

Bucky shook his head. “No. This was a one-time incident. I have no desire to hurt myself, I have no desire to hurt anyone else, even that guy. I definitely don’t have any plans to go after him again, and I don’t think that I would hurt him if I saw him on the street or anything like that. I promise. I would tell you if I thought that was a concern.” 

“That’s good. I am very, very glad to hear you say that.” Dr. Jones said and the fact that he couldn’t hide the relief in his voice made Bucky the slightest bit defensively angry, although he couldn’t blame his doctor and he wasn’t about to admit as much to him either. Still, he was relieved when Dr. Jones said, “Given that it sounds like a lot has been going on, what area is currently the most pressing for you at this time?” 

“Actually, uh, it might sound weird but I’d kinda rather focus on my relationship for today. Things have been good overall. I mean, we’re still together and there’s been a lot of shit happening over the past couple of weeks. But it’s… it’s still hard for me. With Natasha, it was easier. We already had that history. She knew me and even though I wasn’t exactly me anymore, there was enough of a relationship there that I didn’t have quite as many worries as I have now. Not that I didn’t have worries, you know that, I was always worried about being a burden but it was… different.” 

“Because the two of you knew each other and there was already that basis of relationship between you, it felt more familiar and comfortable, with less questions and concerns,” Dr. Jones said. “What types of worries are you having about your relationship?”

“Some of the usual, feeling like a burden, that sort of thing, especially recently because I’ve been such a mess and Steve’s been such a mess because of his own injuries. Those I can deal with pretty well though. I know how to recognize those thoughts and I know what to do when I recognize them.” He exhaled slowly. “I guess the biggest worry I have is my relationship with Natasha and how that’s effecting my relationship with Steve. He hasn’t said anything but I can’t imagine it doesn’t bother him how close me and Natasha still are. When I start thinking about it though, I just end up feeling overwhelmed because I start wondering if maybe I should cut off my relationship with Natasha but I can’t even consider doing that for more than a second, especially since Steve hasn’t said anything about it. I just… I don’t want Steve to feel like he’s competing with her and I have absolutely no idea how to navigate this type of situation.” 

He took a deep breath before asking, “So… that’s probably what’s on my mind. Any chance you might be able to help me navigate this situation?” 

“I think there is,” Dr. Jones said. “You know by now that I won’t give you the answers but I believe the two of us can work together to find the answers.” 

Bucky relaxed, and mentally kicked himself for the length of time that had gone by since his last appointment. He settled down in preparation for what he had no doubt was going to be a mixture of questions, probably a review of boundaries, and hopefully some tools that he could use to make all of these worries stop plaguing his mind.

“What’s stopped you from asking Steve directly if he feels that way about your relationship with Natasha?” Dr. Jones inquired. 

The question, while so simple, caught Bucky completely off-guard. As he started to think through those reasons, it occurred to him that maybe it wouldn’t be quite as hard as he’d expected to find a way to resolve this situation.

-~-

Steve couldn’t stop his foot from tapping impatiently. After twenty minutes spent in the waiting room, he was going on another twenty sitting in his doctor’s office. While he didn’t have any pressing appointments, being in a place that smelled like antiseptic and reminded him of other incidents in hospitals, waiting rooms, and doctor’s offices wasn’t exactly comfortable. Furthermore, he could tell that Bucky wasn’t faring much better than he was himself.

Bucky took that moment to reach over and gently place his metal hand on top of Steve’s; he was being mindful to avoid putting any pressure on the splinted fingers. Steve glanced over at him, to gauge how well he was holding up, but Bucky seemed reasonably at ease. Obviously not comfortable – who was ever fully comfortable in a doctor’s office? – but he did not appear to be on the edge of losing his shit. 

Instead of thinking about all of that, Steve tried to focus on their morning. Admittedly Bucky had looked miserable and sick all morning, to the point where Steve had only hesitantly asked Bucky about breakfast, and was unsurprised when Bucky paled and looked sickened. However, following the appointment with Bucky’s psychologist, the two of them had gone out for breakfast once more; Steve had considered going home and cooking but his ability to manage a meal was limited due to the splints still on his fingers and Bucky wasn’t exactly managing well himself with one arm, not to mention that wasn’t exactly conducive to traveling to the next appointment. Once the decision had been made to go out for brunch, Bucky had requested trying a new restaurant, apparently determined to push his boundaries a bit more than usual. The meal had gone well, with Bucky seeming reasonably relaxed given the new location and actually eating the majority of his food, and then the two of them had headed to Steve’s doctor’s appointment.

Steve hadn’t asked Bucky any questions about his session over brunch. Admittedly, he’d had been nervous about accompanying Bucky to his appointment but Bucky had promised that Steve would not be expected to join him for the session – furthermore, that having Steve join them for the session would be a breach of confidentiality unless Bucky signed a release to allow his psychologist to speak openly with Steve. For some reason though, even just sitting in the waiting room felt a bit awkward. He flipped through a few of the magazines on the table and then read through a few of the brochures offered, taking the ones on PTSD and TBI. He’d already gathered quite a few from Natasha and Sam but he figured he could never be learning too much about the conditions Bucky struggled with.

When Bucky came out of the session, Steve received the briefest of contact with Bucky’s psychologist - a quick introduction and a handshake – before they left to travel across town for Steve’s doctor’s appointment. Bucky had thanked Steve for joining him for his session and Steve was relieved to see that Bucky’s mood seemed quite improved compared to how he’d been the past few days. Furthermore, the fact that he was willing to eat and had actually eaten the majority of his food was encouraging.

There was a light knock and the exam-room door finally opened. Steve exhaled a pent up breath and fixed the doctor with a smile.

“So… are these finally coming off?” he asked, nodding to the splints on his hand.

“Your x-rays look good,” the doctor informed him. “I think that your fingers have healed enough to take off the splints. However, you should know that the healing process isn’t quite finished yet.” 

Steve felt his stomach drop. “What are you saying? Is there… permanent damage? Will I not have full range of movement back?” 

“That would be unlikely,” the doctor assured him. “However, the next several weeks will be a time of progress with a lot of work that you still need to do. I’ll be setting you up for physical therapy appointments.” 

Steve tried to curb his frustration as he thought about how badly Rumlow’s actions had fucked up his life. No work for a month now, plenty of doctor’s bills, and now additional appointments he’d need to attend before he was fully healed. Not to mention that the number of extensions for artwork based assignments that he’d requested from professors was becoming overwhelming. 

Nothing in his life was ever simple. Maybe he should have pressed those charges. 

Immediately he felt guilty for those thoughts. If he’d pressed charges, Bucky would be in jail and have the potential of facing prison time. Not pressing charges was worth it for having Bucky here with him. 

He could handle these consequences. 

-~-

Clint’s face was wet.

That must have been what woke him up. Otherwise, he was pretty sure that he would have slept for an entire day or month or however long he could have stayed in bed without repercussions, which in retrospect was probably only about 8 hours if he was lucky because there was work and class and other life obligations to worry about. 

He shoved at Lucky and groggily said, “I’m up, I’m up, Luck.” 

Even though his eyes weren’t open, his focus was on tracking down Lucky’s food bowl when a familiar voice – yet not one that he expected to hear in his bedroom – said, “Glad that worked. I tried waking you up twice and even set off my own alarm on my phone. Trying out the new trick I taught Lucky was the last idea I figured I’d try before setting off explosives.” 

Clint blinked and his eyes focused on a room that definitely was not his bedroom because rather than being in bed, there was a desk above him. There was a blanket beneath him, although that was on the floor rather than a mattress, and a pillow under his head but that was where any minimal resemblance to his room ended. Rather, he appeared to have crafted a nest – and now that he thought about that, yes, that was exactly what he’d done – under the desk in Steve’s office where he’d taken up shop for the time being. 

Darcy crouched over him, petting Lucky, and giving him an appraising look. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Barton.”

“Sorry about that,” he said sleepily. “I decided to take a nap between clients.” 

“I noticed. You sure you should’ve come into work today?”

Clint carefully pushed himself into a sitting position and gritted his teeth as his body protested the movement. Overall, he wasn’t in extreme pain – over the past few days, he’d decreased the number of painkillers he was taken and even now, without them, since he wasn’t about to tattoo while medicated, he didn’t feel particularly not fine. Just sore and bruised and swollen but that was about on par for his usual state.

“I’m good,” he assured Darcy. “Naps have just become one of my things. That and coffee are keeping me going just fine. Speaking of that, any chance there’s a fresh pot of coffee made?”

“There isn’t but I can fix that.” Darcy offered Clint her hand to help him up. “Just as long as you join me in the lobby and provide some entertainment. It’s boring in here. It’s been far too quiet today.” 

“As long as the entertainment doesn’t involve much movement and I can drink coffee, I’m in.” Clint carefully got to his feet and stumbled after Darcy while Lucky trotted behind them. 

When Darcy offered him a cup, he opted to just take the entire pot. After drinking about half the contents, he felt almost human again. He glanced at the clock, noting that his next appointment was still an hour away, and was just getting ready to sit back and relax when the front door opened and Steve and Bucky stepped in. Their cheeks were pink from the cold, hair windblown, but both were laughing as they entered the shop. Given that both were wrapped up in several layers of clothing, Clint didn’t register any change in Steve’s appearance until Steve pointedly wiggled his fingers in Clint and Darcy’s direction.

“I’m finally free,” he said. “The splints are off.”

“Congrats, boss!” Darcy said. “We should celebrate. I’ll treat you to dinner. It’ll be an adventure.” 

“That mean I’m out of a job?” Clint inquired. 

That would definitely not be a bad thing entirely, although less time at the shop would probably admittedly lead to more opportunities to get into trouble, and that would lead to more broken bones and more of Natasha lecturing him, and none of that was particularly good.

So he was somewhat relieved when Steve shook his head. “Not at all, Barton. We’re going to need you here for probably two to six more weeks. The doctors said I’ll need at least a few weeks of physical therapy and I’ll probably have to start slow once I’m finally cleared. My fingers still aren’t working so well.” 

Clint shrugged. “I’m fine with that. I can always use some extra crash and Nat seems to think that this job has been keeping me on the straight and narrow.” 

Steve glanced towards Bucky – who, now that Clint looked at him, wasn’t looking his best despite the fact that he’d come in laughing – and then said, “Darce, we might hold off on that dinner offer. It’s been a long day and me and Bucky are pretty tired.” 

“No worries,” she said easily. “I’ll leave an IOU before I head out tonight. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I’m broke right now, so waiting until the next paycheck would probably be a good idea. You guys go relax, me and Clint can keep the shop running. It’s not on fire yet.” 

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Bucky noted, before adding a grateful, “Thanks. Hopefully I’ll be getting the ‘all clear’ one of these days to return to work myself. I know that hasn’t exactly been helping with business.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Clint said. “Worst case scenario, I’ll see if Nat has any other friends who might be able to come in for temporary help.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be struggling for money,” Darcy added. “You two will be back soon and if Clint’s willing to stay on, maybe we can figure out a way to recoup the losses if you, Steve, and Clint are able to alternate with your class schedules so that one of you is always here and working.”

At the mention of classes, Clint skipped a breath. With all of the recent incidents, he had to admit that class had been something he’d kinda forgotten. He was pretty sure he’d initially contacted his professors but there were definitely assignments and tests and other requirements he’d lost track of. He did his best to remind himself that he had plenty of medical records to support his failure at attendance. 

Maybe he could talk to Coulson about figuring out a way to keep him from failing this semester.

-~-

Steve paused in the midst of typing up an essay, in order to flex his fingers. Although he was getting more range of movement and it was wonderful to be able to properly type once again, his muscles still seemed intent on returning to their splinted position.

Bucky had fallen asleep shortly after they’d come upstairs to the apartment. Steve hadn’t been surprised; he’d seen how exhausted Bucky was after their back-to-back respective doctor appointments. Steve had tried to convince him to move to the bed but Bucky had stubbornly insisted on staying on the couch – and staying awake – until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. 

Steve had tucked a pillow under his head and covered him with a light blanket but otherwise left him to rest while he tried to catch up on his schoolwork. Between his difficulty typing with his previously splinted fingers, the recent time spent taking care of Bucky, and everything else that had been going on, he was coming dangerously close to missing deadlines and needing to request extensions on his non-art related assignments as well. He had no doubt if he asked, his professors would be more than willing to work with him, but he wasn’t the sort to do something like that. He’d been reluctant to request the extensions for the art assignments, despite the impossibility of drawing or painting with his splinted fingers. 

Bucky had tossed and turned a few times; overall though, he appeared to be resting comfortably, which Steve was relieved to see. While Bucky’s overall condition had been improving over the past few weeks, his good and bad days still fluctuated, just now with more good days than bad ones. Steve had no doubt that despite the fact that Bucky had seemed in good spirits earlier, the appointment with his doctor had been rough on him.

He paused his work to lean over and carefully comb his fingers through Bucky’s hair – finally able to do that without the metal and tape on his fingers - and then silently cursed himself when Bucky stirred. His hand stilled and he hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if Bucky would fully awaken, and then Bucky settled down once more and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. His movements were slow and careful as he continued to thread his fingers through Bucky’s hair. This time, Bucky remained still and quiet. Steve probably shouldn’t have taken the risk of accidentally waking up Bucky once again but he’d wanted to do this so many times over the past several weeks. Now that he was able to, he couldn’t seem to help himself. 

The next several hours progressed in much the same way, with Steve alternating between focusing on Bucky and working on his essays. By the time he heard the door downstairs shut as Darcy and Clint headed out for the evening, he’d moved away from his schoolwork and pulled out a sketchpad, eager to draw for the first time in well over a month. The sight of Bucky sleeping provided him with the perfect subject. He settled down to ease back into work.

Almost immediately, he realized that task would not be that easy. His fingers shook as he attempted to close them around the pencil, and his movements were slow and jerky rather than smooth. The pencil lines on the paper provided a mockery of the image he’d been aiming to draw, nothing he would be willing to show to anyone, not even Bucky. All the more frustrating, within twenty minutes his fingers were cramping despite his consistent attempts to flex and stretch them. By the time he was considering abandoning the task, his fingers ached and Bucky was waking up. Trying to turn his attention away from his irritation with his continued inability to draw, he focused entirely on Bucky, who sleepily blinked up at him.

“Hey, Buck,” he said softly. “Sleep well?” 

Bucky nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position. “Yeah, how many hours was I out?” 

“About four. I’m guessing you needed it.” Steve closed his laptop and pushed it away. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Not at all. I guess I was worried about my appointment with Dr. Jones.” 

“Was all of that worry necessary?” Steve asked carefully. “You seemed pretty happy when we left that appointment.” 

“Definitely not,” Bucky assured him. “I just didn’t know how he’d react to me telling him about my attack on Rumlow. But that went fine and he was supportive and overall the session went well.” 

Then Bucky’s brow furrowed, and Steve realized that he’d been continuing to clench and unclench his fingers in the hopes of decreasing the ache in the sore muscles that seemed to stretch into his bones.

Steve offered a faint, somewhat self-deprecating grin. “Sorry. I tried to draw for a bit, see how my hands were working, and I guess I pushed myself a little bit too far.” 

“You want me to help with that?” Bucky offered. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at massaging. Maybe I could help work out the tension.” He frowned the slightest bit. “Or at least I’ll try. Kinda forgot that I only have my one working arm.” 

“I’d be fine with you trying,” Steve said quickly, both because he didn’t think Bucky would respond well to Steve shying away from his metal hand, but also because the thought of having Bucky massage his hands sounded blissful with how bad he was feeling at this point. 

Bucky reached over and carefully took hold of Steve’s hand with his metal one. The coldness of the metal caused Steve to flinch the slightest bit. He could immediately tell that Bucky had realized, since he nearly let go and probably would have if Steve hadn’t insisted, “I’m fine, it’s fine.” 

Bucky didn’t pull away and after a moment, he carefully massaged each individual finger, maintaining a light pressure. 

Steve bit back a low moan as he felt his muscles relax and the pain, which a few moments ago was all he could think about, eased up and drifted away. Bucky’s metal fingers were able to release the knots of tension that had built up during the weeks he couldn’t use his hands, and with his recent attempts to use his hands as though nothing had ever happened to him, those knots had only increased. Now though, he was starting to feel almost like a normal human being who, besides the faint ache still in his bones, had two working hands. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, as Bucky’s hand stilled. “That was wonderful, Buck.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I know what it’s like to be trying to rehabilitate an injury. While you’re going through physical therapy and easing back into work, just let me know if you need me to work on your hands at all.”

“Much appreciated,” Steve said, though in the back of his mind he questioned how likely he would be to let Bucky know if he was hurting (the answer: not very likely). “Since I’ve got two semi-working hands that seem to be feeling better thanks to you, what were you thinking for dinner? Looks like cooking is back in the cards.” 

“Surprise me.” This time when Bucky smiled, there was the slightest hint of strain, which Steve promised to himself that he would follow up on.

He rose and headed into the kitchen, and checked the fridge and cabinets to see what food options they even had available. Given that neither of them had been doing a whole lot of cooking recently, there was a ton of takeout still there but a lack of groceries overall. With a bit of searching, Steve managed to track down enough ingredients to make pasta, tomato sauce, and garlic bread. 

“How does Italian sound?” he asked.

Bucky gave him a thumbs up. 

“Sounds like a plan. I can help out with the sides. Pretty sure I can manage that with one and a half arms. Just figured I might clean myself up a bit first. Make sure I’m properly awake.” 

“I’ll start the pasta and the sauce,” Steve offered, as he watched Bucky stumble to his feet – and Steve caught that he staggered the slightest bit and appeared unsteady for the first few steps – and disappear into the bathroom. 

Steve focused his attention on setting the water to boil and pulling out a can of crushed tomatoes and spices to make the sauce. He tried not to think too much about the fact that Bucky seemed off – there were 101 reasons he could identify that might explain Bucky’s current state of mind, and not all of them involved him or something he’d done wrong. He tried to just be grateful that he could actually use his hands enough to make a meal.

The water was boiling and the sauce was nearly done by the time Bucky rejoined him, now clean-shaven and looking a bit more put together than he had recently. He went to work immediately on the garlic bread, managing that one-handed, and the two worked beside each other in companionable silence. Steve took the opportunity to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips as he slipped past him to grab the pepper. Bucky responded by slowly kissing a pattern from the back to the front of Steve’s throat before he went to the fridge to grab a bottle of the beer Natasha had sent them home with after the Halloween festivities. 

Steve still couldn’t believe that in just a few weeks, he’d become quite this comfortable with Bucky in his life. Granted, he imagined that this transition was even stranger for Bucky, who was still transitioning back into civilian life, but two months ago, he couldn’t have imagined practically living with his boyfriend, let alone feeling this at ease with him. 

Soon enough, the food was ready and, since Bucky was still contending with the garlic bread and attempting to make a salad out of the meager half-alive vegetables in the fridge, Steve took it upon himself to set the table. By the time the places were set and the bowl of pasta and sauce was on the table, the garlic bread and rather sad looking salad were finished, and Steve offered to carry the salad to the table. Within minutes, both had a plate full of food. Steve supposed that they must have both been hungry, given that several minutes went by before Bucky spoke.

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

As far as Steve was concerned, there was nothing worse than those words. The phrasing was slightly better than the ominous “We need to talk” but the implications were far too similar for comfort. He swallowed his last bite of food, washing it down with a sip of the beer that he’d grabbed from the fridge, following in Bucky’s lead. 

“Yeah, sure, what’s on your mind, Buck?” He hoped that his voice didn’t shake as much as he was afraid it would. 

“It… it has something to do with the conversation that I had with Dr. Jones earlier today,” Bucky said hesitantly. “I… I wanted to ask you something.” When Steve nodded encouragingly, he said, “I wanted to know how you felt about my continued relationship with Natasha.”

Steve had the sense that he would need to choose his next words carefully. The question felt loaded to him – if he answered the wrong way, as far as he was concerned, it could be the end of his relationship – but he also sensed that he needed to answer honestly. All of those thoughts in his head meant that he was silent for a few moments before he responded. 

“I understand it,” he said finally. “I know that the two of you have a long history together. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that I felt uncomfortable with the relationship at times, as though you preferred her to me.” 

Bucky’s expression fell, although he did not look particularly surprised. “I had a feeling that was the case. What would make you feel more comfortable?” 

Steve found himself at a loss for words in response to that question. Of everything he’d expected, Bucky asking his opinion on the matter wasn’t one he’d particularly anticipated. He sifted through his thoughts, trying to figure out if he even had a sense of what would make him feel more comfortable. He certainly wouldn’t want Bucky to cut off ties with Natasha; that would be petty and wrong. Steve knew there was nothing between them at this time, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what else Bucky could do to help him feel more at ease.

Bucky was looking increasingly uncomfortable, and Steve forced himself to come up with some type of response. “I… I honestly don’t entirely know. I guess the biggest thing might be that if something was going on… you might try to tell me first? I know that you feel more comfortable with Natasha but if it was something where you would be willing to talk, I’d be willing to help. I might not know all of the ways of helping you the way Natasha does, but I’ve been trying to learn and I think I’ve been doing an okay job.”

“You have,” Bucky said quickly. “You’ve been doing the best job I could ask for and, yeah, I could definitely turn to you first if something’s wrong. I’ve been trying to do a better job of that but I wasn’t sure if that was enough.”

“It has been. I don’t think you’ve been doing a bad job at all.” Steve considered censoring himself for a moment, and then determined that it would probably be healthier if he just put everything out there and admitted to all of his recent insecurities. “I think, if anything, that it was just hard for me to deal with that after you got hurt. You really relied on Natasha during that incident and in the days afterwards. I guess there was a part of me that felt jealous. Which I know is completely irrational. She’s familiar, I’m still new, and it wasn’t as though you responded badly to me, you just went to her first.”

“I can’t say that I remember all of that,” Bucky acknowledged. “I don’t know if it changes how you feel, but I can say that I was always looking for you in those moments, at least when I was focused enough to think clearly. When I wasn’t… when I wasn’t I would imagine that I probably did look for Natasha but that wasn’t because I wanted her more, it was just because she was familiar and… and probably also because there’s a part of me that still doesn’t want to be seen as a burden by you.” 

“A burden?” Steve echoed. “Buck, I would never, could never, see you as a burden. You needed support and help because you’d just been hospitalized. That’s not weak. That’s human.” 

“Still,” Bucky murmured. “I… I can try to do better. I want you to know how much you mean to me. Because you mean a lot to me. And maybe that’s crazy, since I haven’t known you for that long, but I want to make this work. Anything that I can do to make you feel that you are the most important person to me I’m willing to do.”

“You saying that is enough. I know you’ve been trying and that’s all I can ask for.” 

Bucky looked a bit relieved but said, “This is… this is still new to me. I mean, you know I’ve been in relationships before but everything’s been different since I came back from Iraq. Things that used to be easy are now a hundred times more complicated, and I know that I’m still not doing the best job at handling it. But I want to make this work and Dr. Jones has always said that open communication is the best way of handling relationship issues.”

“So we’ll try to do a better job at communicating.” Steve tried not to think about all of the areas of his life that he was hesitant to discuss with Bucky.

If he wanted Bucky to be open with him, he owed it to Bucky to be equally as open. Given that Steve wasn’t used to that, he supposed that both of them would have to do a lot of work. Instead of saying anything else verbally, he reached over to cover Bucky’s metal hand with his own. 

Bucky offered him a smile in response to that and murmured, “Better communication it is.” 

-~-

When Bucky jerked awake - yanked back to consciousness but not, as far as he could tell, due to a nightmare – he wasn’t quite certain initially what had woken him up. He was aware though of fighting off the urge to reach for the nearest weapon, although the room was silent and still. He tried to think through the past few hours to figure out what might have triggered him this badly but he couldn’t think of anything particular stressful. The conversation with Steve over dinner had gone better than he’d ever imagined it would and the two had eaten a dessert of ice cream while watching a movie after the meal. Not a whole lot of the movie had been watched and shortly they’d moved their activities from the couch to the bed and he supposed that at some point after he’d just fallen asleep.

There was a sound, this time distinctly coming from outside the window of the apartment, and Bucky registered that must have been what woke him up. Now that there was a potential threat, he found his muscles tensing as he tried to figure out if there was anything he could use to defend himself. After all, he hadn’t brought any of the weapons – the handful of knives and baseball bat – that he had to the apartment since he didn’t want to make Steve feel uneasy. That was especially true given that, more often than not, Natasha kept those under lock and key because she didn’t want Bucky to get triggered and do something stupid with them. Still, just knowing they were there provided Bucky with a measure of comfort. 

Steve stirred and sleepily mumbled something incomprehensible as Bucky sat up. Bucky gently shushed him, at which point the noise came once more. Bucky slipped out of bed and cautiously made his way towards the window, but was stopped short by Steve’s voice.

“Buck? What’s going on?” Steve questioned sleepily.

Bucky motioned for him to be quiet and then pointed towards the window, hoping that the gestures were enough for Steve to see despite the fact that Steve wasn’t wearing his glasses at the time. He positioned himself right beside the window and peered through the edge of the curtain to see what he could catch. What he saw was a flash of movement right near the Shield sign above the shop and before he could stop and think, he pushed the curtain aside and went to shove open the window.

As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. When the curtain moved, the figure outside the window – Bucky caught a quick glimpse of a can of spray paint in his hand – recoiled and nearly fell back, off of the ladder he was standing on. There was a flurry of movement and a yell – something akin to “Let’s move!” – before the figure disappeared from sight and Bucky was immediately in movement.

He paused long enough to yell to Steve, “There’s someone outside the window” before bolting down the stairs. He barely managed to keep his balance and cursed the fact that his sense of equilibrium had never been quite the same since his blast injury in Iraq. Still, he managed to stay on his feet, even if he had to slow down, and he snarled a few choice words to himself about his lack of speed as he threw open the locks on the front door of the shop and ran outside.

He could see a ladder still propped up against the side of the shop and two figures bolting down the street, not too, too far ahead of him, and before he could hesitate, he went after them. Halfway down the block, he had no doubt that there was no chance of catching up with them – he was too unsteady and his lungs didn’t seem to be providing enough oxygen to his brain, since he was already feeling dizzy and having to blink back black spots from eyes. He muttered a few curses as he stumbled to a stop and watched the figures recede into the night.

Frustrated with himself, he turned back to the shop, finding Steve standing outside, staring in shock up at the shield that decorated the front of the tattoo parlor. Bucky followed his gaze and cursed again as he saw the word spray-painted on the red, white, and blue shield: _Fags_. 

Bucky made his way back to Steve, who looked furious, and Steve looked over Bucky’s shoulder as he approached and made an attempt to bolt in the direction the two vandals had disappeared in. 

Bucky caught him and gently restrained him with his metal arm and murmured, “They’re gone, Steve. They’re gone.” 

Steve’s body was shaking with anger – or possibly cold, given that Bucky registered that both of them were barefoot and in light sweatpants and t-shirts when the weather outside was below freezing – and he snarled several choice words, clearly directed at the vandals despite the fact that they were long gone. Bucky understood Steve’s anger – this was Steve’s shop and his home and to have it denigrated in this way was the highest form of offense – but he had no doubt there was nothing they could do at this point in terms of catching the people who had done this.

“Call Coulson,” Bucky said. “Might also be worth giving Stark a call. I’m sure there’s something he can do. Once the police have shown up and there’s no risk of disturbing the evidence, I’ll see about getting the sign down.” 

Steve looked mutinous but grudgingly said, “Okay” although he seemed to have no intention of heading back inside. 

Bucky put his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “C’mon, Steve. We stay out here much longer, we’re both going to end up with frostbite. Let’s go inside.” 

With Bucky’s arm around him, Steve reluctantly headed back into the shop and went straight to track down his cell phone. Bucky took the moment to steady his breathing and calm himself down. The last thing he needed to do was look ready to commit a homicide when the police showed up. Not after his recent incidents of violence. 

He doubted that either Steve or himself would be sleeping for the remainder of the night.


	22. Sing, Muse, Of The Warning By the Whistle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the initial repercussions of the vandalism are dealt with, Tony makes an appearance (much to Steve's irritation), Steve's immune system has a slight meltdown, and Jane has a major realization and initiates a plan of action.

Steve could feel exhaustion creeping up on him, in the way that his hands shook the slightest bit, his legs were unsteady, and he had to keep blinking his eyes to clear his vision. But for the time being, his adrenaline and raw fury were much stronger than his exhaustion, keeping him on his feet and helping him provide a statement to the cops. Coulson had been unavailable, which wasn’t surprising. In the grand scheme of things, this type of vandalism was minor, but he’d promised to send the best pair of officers he could. 

Steve still couldn’t believe this had even happened. If recent events hadn’t suggested otherwise, he would have assumed that this was just some homophobic asshole being a dick. But this felt personal, especially after Rumlow’s unprovoked attack. Steve couldn’t entirely bring himself to believe that the graffiti outside was random. 

On the other side of the room, Bucky spoke to another officer, attempting to provide the minimal details he’d gathered of the appearance of the vandals. He hadn’t gotten much of a look through the window, let alone a better one once he tried to chase them down, but he was doing his best. 

Steve could see visible strain in Bucky’s face and he fought the urge to interrupt Bucky’s conversation with the officer. At this point, Bucky was a better judge of himself and his capabilities, or at least Steve hoped that was the case. Still, he knew that stress and lack of sleep weren’t exactly good for keeping Bucky stable and functional, not to mention that mad dash he’d made to try to catch up with the vandals.

Before he could consider stepping in, at least to make certain that Bucky was okay, the front door to Shield opened and Tony stepped inside. Despite the fact that it was 3:00 AM and he’d sounded half asleep when Steve called, he looked fairly well put together. Granted, he was dressed more casually than he’d been the last time he’d walked into Shield – this time with a t-shirt and a pair of jeans – but his hair was combed and gelled back.

“Hey, Rogers,” he greeted, and then, to one of the officers who attempted to ask him what he was doing there, just said, “Oh, I own the place.”

“Didn’t think you’d be running over in the middle of the night,” Steve said.

“I know. I wanted to see the damage myself, not through police photos.” At that point, he raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Steve. “So, Rogers, what’s going on? You piss off a witch or something recently? Because this is more than a simple string of bad luck. Someone’s got it out for you.” 

“He’s got a point,” the officer noted. “You have any enemies?”

“I didn’t think so, until a few weeks ago,” Steve said with a sigh. “A man named Brock Rumlow assaulted me without any provocation. That turned into a complicated situation, so it might be worth checking in with him to see if this was some petty attempt to get back at us.”

The officer jotted down Rumlow’s name, and Steve tried to ignore Tony, who was currently examining both the interior and exterior of the shop and appeared to be using his cell phone – which now that Steve looked at it, really didn’t look like any other cell phone he’d ever seen – to do God knows what. The officers gave him an uncertain look but didn’t disturb his work. Steve, on the other hand, was on the verge of saying something out of frustration with the fact that Stark had just walked in and was treating the shop like it was his own – which, granted, it was but Steve still resented it – when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. There was a startled gasp from the officer who had been questioning Bucky.

Prepared to turn and find Bucky sprawled on the floor, Steve had to admit that he was grateful to find that while Bucky was no longer standing, he’d ended up on one knee and still seemed conscious and relatively aware and focused. Offering a quick “Excuse me, I’m sorry” to the officer he’d been talking to, Steve hurried over to Bucky and crouched down beside him. If anything, Bucky seemed primarily embarrassed over the situation, although he grudgingly accepted Steve’s help to get back to his feet. 

By that point, Steve could see that there was no way Bucky was steady enough to remain standing for long. He softly suggested, “Hey, let’s get you to the couch.”

Bucky didn’t protest. In fact, all he did was explain to the officer that he was a veteran and that he’d been injured in the line of duty. Initially, Bucky appeared somewhat defensive after his disclosure but when the officer did nothing more than say, “Thank you for your service to this country” his muscles relaxed. After guiding him to the sofa, Steve stayed beside him, clasping Bucky’s metal hand in-between his own, and Bucky flashed him a grateful smile.

“I think we’ve asked enough questions for this evening,” the officer said, after a moment of reviewing his notes. “If you remember anything else, here’s my card, and if we have anymore questions for you, we have the phone number and address of the shop.”

“Thank you.” Steve accepted the card and shook the officer’s hand. “We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.” 

He left Bucky for long enough to lock the front door behind the officers and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His attempt to find some sort of inner calm was completely interrupted by Tony’s voice breaking the silence. Up until that point, Steve had been doing his best to forget that Tony was still there. 

“Seriously, Rogers, what the fuck’s going on here? First you got jumped. Then the idiot who jumped you was stupid enough to show up for an appointment here and got his ass beat by Terminator over here.” 

He accentuated his point by gesturing towards Bucky, who just raised an eyebrow and drily said, “Oh good, a new nickname. I was getting a little tired of Robocop. I’m glad we’re branching out.”

“Not to mention attempted robberies and now vandalism,” Tony finished up his list. “Did someone put a curse on you, Rogers? Is this like that movie _Thinner_ or something?”

“That was actually a book first,” Steve offered helpfully.

Tony glared at him. “You’re missing the point.”

“If you’re asking if I’ve pissed off any witches lately, no, not to my knowledge,” Steve said with a sigh.

“It was actually a gypsy family that the guy pissed off in _Thinner_ ,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve was somewhat gratified to see that Tony was looking utterly exasperated.

“Alright, the point is that a lot of shit has been happening lately and I don’t like it. It’s not good for business and it’s sure as hell not good for either of you. We need to do something.”

“I’m open for suggestions.” Steve double-checked the locks and then returned to his previous seat beside Bucky while Tony paced in front of them.

“For starters, we’re putting in security cameras,” Tony said. “I’ve already mapped out their placements; they’ll be able to get every inch inside and outside of this place. Hopefully they’ll work as deterrence but if any dumb-fuck is stupid enough to pull something again, at least we’ll have their face on film to give to the cops the next time.” 

Despite Steve’s reluctance to take anything Tony offered to them, he couldn’t exactly identify a good reason to argue against putting cameras in place. If they’d had a camera when Rumlow jumped him, a whole hell of a lot of pain and grief could have been avoided. It made Steve vaguely sick to think that with a camera there, Bucky might not have a broken arm at this time or have backslid so much in terms of his mental stability over the past few weeks. If they’d had a camera tonight, they wouldn’t be questioning who committed this most recent incident. They wouldn’t just be waiting and wondering when the next awful thing would happen. 

As a result, he wearily nodded and said, “Alright, Stark. Sounds good.” 

Tony looked pleased that Steve hadn’t argued against him. “Secondly, I’m going to take the shield back with me to the tower and get it fixed up and - ”

He didn’t have the chance to continue because Steve was vigorously shaking his head and protesting. “No, hell no, that’s not happening. I designed that shield. Me and Buck can handle taking it down, so that none of the customers see it tomorrow, and I’ll deal with getting it repainted and fixed up.”

“You sure you can do that with your gimpy hands, Rogers?” Tony questioned.

Steve saw red at that, particularly when his eyes automatically went down to his hands, and he saw the taut muscles, practically forming his hands into grotesque, deformed looking claws as he automatically attempted to ball his hands into fists in response to his anger and his fingers refused to cooperate. Beside him, Bucky massaged his temples with his metal hand and started to look pained.

“I said I can handle it, Stark, which means I can fucking handle it,” Steve all but snarled. “The splints are off, I’m going to physical therapy, and I can deal. I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work.”

Tony didn’t take a step back in response to Steve’s tone the way Steve had almost been hoping he would. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow and said, “Alright. That’s your choice. You know I’m only here to help.” 

“No, you’re here to micromanage this shop as though it’s one of your businesses but it’s not,” Steve snapped. “This is mine. You bought the building and you financed the initial costs of equipment but I built this shop. I’ve been the one managing the costs since then. I’m the one who designed this place. I’m the one who’s done the hiring and the books and the training for all new staff members.” 

Steve could see Tony preparing for an argument to counter Steve’s statements and Steve hoped that he would. He wanted this fight. Over the years, Tony had primarily been hands-off in his approach to the shop but every so often he overstepped his bounds, at least as far as Steve was concerned. This was one of those times and Steve was so furious – between the pain in his hands, the word spray-painted on the hand-made sign he’d created for the shop, and the fact that it was the middle of the night and he was awake as a result of all of this – that he would have been willing to say “fuck it” to everything and walk away.

But before Tony could respond, Bucky suddenly pitched sideways beside Steve and collapsed onto the couch. Steve immediately turned his full attention onto him because, at this point, fuck Tony. Bucky’s eyes were fluttering, so Steve was fairly certain he wasn’t completely out, but he still automatically checked Bucky’s pulse and respiration before turning back to Tony.

“Look, I need to take care of Bucky. We can talk more tomorrow. Okay?” 

Tony seemed reluctant to respond. Steve could tell that he wasn’t prepared to let things go but even he wasn’t enough of a heartless douchebag to press things when Bucky was so obviously not doing well. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said after a moment. “I’ll get the orders in for the cameras and we can touch base on the situation tomorrow. Have a good night, Rogers.” 

Steve walked with him to the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind Tony’s retreating form was music to Steve’s ears. He turned around to find that Bucky was sitting up, looking significantly better than he had been a few moments before, and he fixed Steve with a rueful smile.

“Sorry about scaring you like that. It was probably a bit of a dick move on my part. I just saw the two of you going at it and it’s so late and we’re all exhausted so I… I just decided to cause a distraction. I mean, I’ve got a god awful headache but it’s not that bad, at least not yet…” 

The urge to be angry at Bucky for pulling that sort of stunt was minimal and easily contained; if anything, Steve was grateful that Bucky wasn’t feeling as poorly as he’d appeared to be feeling. 

“You’re forgiven,” he said, and offered Bucky his hand. 

The fact that Bucky refused to take it and insisted on standing on his own kindled Steve’s anger more than the fact that he’d pretended to pass out. He forced himself to contain those emotions – a little voice reminded him that hadn’t he and Bucky just discussed how important open communication was? – and did his best to rationalize Bucky’s actions. Of course Bucky hadn’t taken his hand with his fingers still damaged the way they were. He couldn’t blame Bucky for not wanting to accidentally hurt him. 

That barely dampened the anger at all.

Instead of focusing on the anger, Steve focused on wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist to help steady him as they walked towards the stairs. Despite insisting that he was fine, he was still shaky as he walked. Steve had no doubt that the events of the previous day – the doctors’ appointments, their conversation – had all taken a lot out of him. Combine that with getting woken up in the middle of the night, trying to chase down the vandals, and then the stress of talking to the cops, and he had no doubt that Bucky was more worn down and exhausted than Steve was feeling himself. He was also certain that the headache Bucky seemed to have been suffering from was completely genuine, even if feigning passing out hadn’t been.

“I can still take down the shield,” Bucky said as they made their way upstairs. “It looks like it screws in right underneath the window.”

“It does,” Steve confirmed. “You sure you’re up for that though?”

“Yeah, I can handle that,” Bucky promised, as they entered the apartment. “Just give me the tools and I’ll at least get that inside before the sun comes up and everyone can see it.”

Steve’s anger sparked again. “Y’know what, fuck that. Let them see. What’s there to be ashamed of? They want to call me a fag, then fine, the world can see that plastered all over my shop. Let ‘em see what those cowards did.”

Bucky sighed heavily. “I see where you’re coming from, Steve, but it’s not worth it. Let’s just take the shield down and you can repaint it.”

“What’s not worth it? The bad press we’d get? The fact that everyone in this city would know? I’m not ashamed of that. Besides, it’s not like bullies haven’t taunted me with that since they learned those sorts of words.”

By that point, Bucky looked pained. “What about the fact that you designed that shield? That’s your work, Steve. I can’t imagine you want to leave your work degraded like that.”

Steve hesitated, then grudgingly, reluctantly said, “You’re right. I don’t. I’ll get the tools.” 

He watched cautiously as Bucky leaned out the window to unscrew the supports that held the shield in place, offering help where he could since Bucky was working with only one arm. His still mangled fingers weren’t providing much assistance but it was enough that between the two of them, they managed to pull the shield inside and place it on the floor, far enough out of the way that neither of them would trip over it in the middle of the night. 

The longer the window was open as they worked, the more the cold seemed to sink into Steve’s throat and lungs, until his throat felt raw and his lungs didn’t seem to be working quite as well as normal. He excused himself to the bathroom and after a few half-failed tries, managed to force his inhaler to cooperate until the repeated doses of the medication were enough to at least ease up his breathing. Still, the ache in his throat didn’t dissipate. When he looked in the mirror, he could already see that his skin was pale and he was starting to look feverish.

Great. The last thing he needed right now was for his compromised immune system to kick into high gear and take him down with the flu right as he was trying to get his life back in order. He sifted through the medicine cabinet until he could find some vitamin C and Nyquil. The Nyquil bottle was almost empty – just his luck – and it occurred to him that he’d given the last of his unopened medications to Wanda after she and her brother broke into the shop. With the thought of _No good deed ever goes unpunished_ , he took the Vitamin C and the last sip of Nyquil before brushing his teeth, as though that would hide the fact that he’d just taken multiple forms of medication.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Bucky had shut and secured the window and cranked up the heat in the hopes of decreasing the frigid air that seemed to pervade every inch of the apartment. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and hurried over to the bed, where he could tuck himself under the sheets. Halfway there he found himself doubled over with a coughing fit. 

He straightened up to find Bucky looking at him worriedly and quickly said, “It’s fine, Buck. Sometimes my lungs don’t handle the cold so well.” 

Bucky seemed wholly unconvinced and quickly wrapped himself around Steve the second Steve had crawled into bed; Steve, for his part, wasn’t complaining because Bucky was warm and even though he didn’t feel cold, he couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Bucky kept his arm tightly around Steve, though he’d been mindful to make certain the sheet separated his arm from Steve’s body since the metal seemed to have soaked in the frigid air. Even with the sheet between the metal and Steve’s body, Steve could feel the cold radiating from it, seeping through the light covering. 

Eventually, his shivering decreased and by that time, he could already feel his eyes closing and his thoughts slowing thanks to the Nyquil. He did his best to stifle a few more coughs, swallowing several times as though that might clear the sandpaper-like feeling developing in his throat, and prayed that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning feeling this way or even worse. He couldn’t afford to get sick at this point.

He questioned for about half a minute whether or not he should make an excuse to sleep on the couch because the last thing he wanted to do was make Bucky sick too but he quickly ascertained that he was 1) too tired to move and 2) unable to handle all of the questions that move would bring. Instead, he burrowed closer to Bucky’s warm body and let sleep come. All of the other worries and concerns could wait until the morning.

-~-

This time it was the sound of wet, ragged coughing that dragged Bucky back to consciousness. His body fought with him instinctively – there was a lingering steady throbbing headache that sleep hadn’t quite diminished – and he fought right back, clawing his way back to full awareness as he registered that something was wrong. Steve’s body was hot – not just warm, but burning – against his own and Steve’s breathing was uneven and labored.

He forced his eyes open, wincing as the curtains let in far too much light for the pain in his head, and blinked several times. While he waited for his eyes to adjust, he registered that the sheets were soaked in sweat. He fully managed to focus on Steve’s body curled up beside him, and the first thing he noticed was the pallor of Steve’s skin. Then another coughing fit hit Steve and he curled into himself as his body jerked and spasmed. His mind already moving towards panicking, Bucky did his best to think back to what he’d done for his siblings when they’d been sick.

First, he smoothed Steve’s hair back, murmuring any comforting words that came into his mind as Steve continued to cough, and then promised to be right back before climbing out of bed and stumbling his way to the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet proved to be a disappointment. While he could find five million other types of medications, prescription and otherwise, sitting on the shelves, there did not appear to be any cough syrup or cold medicine. He noted the bottle of Nyquil in the trashcan and then an image came to his mind, of Steve filling a plastic bag with various over the counter medications, a bag that he’d then handed to the twins before they left that first night. 

He forced himself to think, despite the fact that his thoughts were still hazy from sleep, to problem-solve this situation. Steve was sick. Steve needed medicine. There was no medicine in the apartment. Therefore, Bucky needed to find the medicine for him. Medicine was found in drugstores. Which ultimately meant that Bucky would need to find the nearest drugstore.

Immediately, his breath caught in his throat and he forced himself to keep breathing, to not hyperventilate, and to not panic. He could count the number of times he’d gone to a store completely by himself since he came back on one hand. While he’d gotten better at going places on his own, typically that meant he was either walking from point A to point B or that he was meeting Natasha or Steve somewhere, which helped to ease his anxiety. When he had the guarantee that he wouldn’t be alone for long, going places was easier, and he’d been proud of himself for no longer needing Natasha or Steve to hold his hand – sometimes literally – while out in public.

Logically he knew that going to a store wasn’t a big deal. He would walk in, pick up his purchase, and walk out. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from spiraling in all sorts of directions; he’d have to make a choice of what type of medication to choose or even what types of medications to grab, then he’d have to bring his purchases to a cashier and the cashier would probably try to make small talk with him, and that didn’t even include having to deal with other customers who might look at him strangely because of his metal arm or try to encourage him to talk. 

_That doesn’t matter_ , he repeated to himself. _Steve’s what matters and Steve needs medicine._

He forced himself to take another breath, this time focusing on drawing the air into his diaphragm and inhaling for a count of four, holding the breath for a count of seven, and then slowly exhaling for a count of eight, and after a few repetitions of this familiar exercise, his muscles relaxed and his racing thoughts slowed down to a manageable level. 

There was a thermometer in the cabinet and he grabbed that. He returned to Steve and gently coaxed him awake for long enough to get the thermometer into his mouth. The resulting numbers indicated a fever, with Steve’s temperature at 101, which at least was not as high as it could have been. Steve miserably informed Bucky that he was fine and “just a little sick.” Bucky gently shushed him and told him that he was going out for medicine and would be back soon. Steve, unsurprisingly, protested and Bucky remained by his side for a few more moments, stroking his hair until he quieted down and drifted back to sleep. 

Once Steve was resting, Bucky quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before grabbing his leather jacket and a scarf. He considered wearing a glove to hide his metal hand but he had no doubt that a glove would make it ten times harder to hold anything. Besides, the doctors continued to refuse his requests to stop wearing the sling, insisting that with how badly damaged his arm had been, any unnecessary pressure on that limb could cause complications, and that meant that he was still effectively one-handed. Ironic that the one working hand he had left was the one that wasn’t even real.

Upon walking down the stairs, he was surprised to hear Darcy and Clint talking. Given the interrupted sleep he’d experienced the previous night, his body was convinced that despite the sunlight outside – which he should have taken as a clue, given that in early November the sun wasn’t rising as early as it used to – it was still the middle of the night. A glance at his watch informed him that actually it was already 9:30 in the morning. He ignored the urge to try to complete the math to figure out how much sleep he’d gotten, given that the hours didn’t matter if his body wasn’t feeling it, and his body was definitely sleep deprived. 

He said a quick good morning to Clint and Darcy, who were sitting at the register, drinking a pot of coffee apiece, and mentioned that Steve was sick and he was heading out to grab medicine as a way of deflecting the questions about where the shield sign had gone. In his hurry to get outside, Bucky forgot his anxiety about the errand, as his focus instead moved to figuring out where the nearest drugstore would be. 

The effort of identifying the location and the steps to reach the goal required his attention for the majority of the journey, leaving no room for those insidious and invasive cognitive distortions to enter his mind. He tried to reward himself for recognizing the distorted nature of his thoughts these days, when he would have previously been so entrenched in them that he would have resisted questioning whether they were rational or not. 

Still, the moment the store came into view, his pace slowed down. Suddenly, putting one foot in front of the other seemed like far too much effort. The number of potential threats in the area, which seemed minimal a few moments before, now felt overwhelming; every person he saw seemed suspicious and dangerous. No matter that he was familiar with this area and had walked the streets on a daily basis without encountering any sort of high-risk situation. 

Before he could talk himself out of completing his errand, Bucky stepped into the shop, far too cognizant of each and every person that he passed and unable to turn off his heightened vigilance. He forced himself to think only about the task at hand – track down the medicine aisle, grab the bottles of Nyquil, Dayquil, and cough syrup – pay and then leave, as quickly as possible. When his thoughts started shifting in other directions – were certain brands of cough syrup better? – he slipped his hand into his pocket and brushed his fingers against the Connemara marble. It provided enough of a reminder to help keep him grounded. Once he felt steadier, he imagined each question and worry being placed on a leaf and floating down a stream, an exercise he typically would have done with his eyes closed, but the thought of doing that in public left him feeling far too vulnerable and exposed. 

As his head cleared, a more helpful thought popped up, namely that there was one more thing he should grab while out, and he hurried to the meager food aisle to grab several cans of chicken soup. He contemplated the orange juice but figured the bottles of Vitamin C would be enough to tide Steve over. Potentially reinjuring his arm carrying a gallon of orange juice home probably wasn’t worth it for anyone.

With those tasks completed, Bucky moved towards the register, grateful to see that there was only one person ahead of him. He mentally rehearsed what he would say to the cashier, responding to questions that hadn’t even been asked yet, and then tried to problem-solve whether cash would be easier than his debit card. 

In the end, all of his worries were for nothing. The cashier only asked him how he was doing, and he was able to mutter, “Fine” and then offered him well wishes for the day after he’d paid. There was enough cash in his wallet that he didn’t have to worry about whether his debit card would go through as credit or whether he’d have to remember his PIN, which was difficult enough on the best of days and definitely more than he could handle at the moment. The whole process of checking out took less than two minutes and before he knew it, he was back outside and on the way back to Shield.

It wasn’t until there was a block between him and the drugstore that Bucky realized what he’d just managed to do. He’d gone out on his own, without a complete handwritten list of purchases in his hand, and managed to handle the situation without completely panicking, making a fool out of himself in public, or simply leaving without completing his errand. The negative self-talk from the back of his mind spilled in, reminding him that any normal person would have been able to do that and that it wasn’t something to be proud of, but he studiously ignored it. 

He’d done something that a year ago would have been impossible. He was determined to be proud of himself for that.

-~-

Everything from his thoughts to the room was hazy. Steve vaguely remembered Bucky taking his temperature and then informing him that he was going out for medicine, despite Steve’s protests on the matter. He tried to get his eyes to focus on the clock, uncertain of how long ago Bucky had left, but that took too much effort. After a few moments of trying, Steve gave up. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about where Bucky might be and soon those thoughts shifted more towards worries. Maybe Bucky had a panic attack in public. Maybe Bucky dissociated and was wandering around Georgetown with no idea where he was. Maybe another catastrophic situation occurred and Bucky was lying in an alley somewhere after being jumped.

Clearly Steve needed to follow after him. 

He dragged his tired, sore body out of bed and tracked down a pair of jeans and one of his hooded sweatshirts. It occurred to him that given that he was sick, he probably needed something warmer than that, but already getting dressed took far too much effort. He tugged the hood up, as his only concession to facing the cold, and stumbled his way down the stairs in order to sneak out the front door.

Darcy and Clint were talking. Steve caught bits and pieces as he tried to figure out how best to get around them. Clint was telling Darcy that the twins were getting restless and stir crazy. Specifically, he was in the process of saying, “Pietro’s getting creepy. Like, I don’t even know. Either he’s super fast or he’s super sneaky or he’s teleporting because I’ll be in the kitchen, completely alone, and then suddenly he’s right there in my face saying, ‘Hi!’ and I’m screaming and I’ve dropped the pizza on the floor and Lucky is already eating it.” 

As Darcy laughed and Clint pointed out that he was starving because he kept losing his food to his dog, Steve decided that this was his best opening and bolted for the door. 

Before he’d even made it halfway across the lobby, there were hands on his shoulders, guiding him away from the door, and Darcy chidingly said, “Uh-uh, Steve. You’re not going anywhere. Barnes says you’re sick and you look like hell.”

“But I have to find him, he went out hours ago,” Steve exclaimed as Darcy forced him to sit down on the couch.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was getting those numbers but it definitely felt like hours had passed since he’d last seen Bucky. That worried him even more.

“Jesus Christ, Rogers, you must have a fever,” Clint noted from where he was sitting on top of the jewelry display case. “He’s been gone five, maybe ten minutes tops. Trust me, if he’d been gone for hours, we’d be out there having a search party for him, not sitting here keeping the shop running.”

Steve frowned, prepared to protest, when the door opened. He looked up, hopeful that it was Bucky. He hoped the disappointment on his face didn’t show when Jane walked in. It occurred to Steve that this was one of the few times he’d seen her recently when Thor wasn’t accompanying her. 

Darcy waved her over towards the counter. “Hey, Jane. Stay away from Steve. He’s contagious and I don’t want him to infect you. I know you can’t afford to miss work.”

“It’s just a cold,” Steve said, and then broke into a coughing fit, which he insisted was entirely due to the fact that Darcy was busy spraying Lysol all over the room in the interest of decontamination.

“I almost didn’t find the place this morning,” Jane replied, as she accepted the cup of coffee that Clint offered to her. “I’m so used to seeing the shield hanging over the shop that I walked right past before I even realized.” 

“Yeah, speaking of which, what happened to the sign?” Clint inquired. “It was totally here when we locked up last night.” 

Steve felt his anger rekindling at the reminder of the events of the previous evening. His sign was damaged. Bucky was exhausted. Now he was sick and at some point he knew he’d still need to deal with Tony, which just increased his overall negative feelings. None of these things would be an issue if the vandalism had never occurred. 

“Sign got vandalized last night,” he said after a long moment, when he was certain he could maintain some sense of composure. “Chased off the guys who did it, had the cops come by to file a report, and Tony might be in today to put in some video cameras. That’s a good point though, Jane. I don’t want Shield to lose business because customers can’t find the place. I’ll have to see what I can do as a temporary fix.”

“Steve, you’re sick,” Jane pointed out. “Don’t push yourself too hard right now. Shield will be fine.”

“Shit, Rogers, what the hell’s been happening recently?” Clint asked with a sigh. “You think this might be that dickbag’s fault?” When Steve gave him an uncomprehending look, Clint said, “Rumlow? I mean, I’d hope he wouldn’t be that much of an idiot but he was stupid enough to come in here for a piercing after assaulting you.” 

When Jane looked confused, Darcy said, “Remember? I told you all about that. The guy came in for a piercing, made the mistake of showing off his tattoo, and Barnes realized that he was the one responsible for breaking Steve’s fingers. Bucky beat his face in. Put his ass in the hospital with a wired shut jaw.”

At that, Steve registered that Jane had an initial look of horror – admittedly appropriate for the situation – followed by an increased look of horrified understanding. Before he could ask her what was on her mind, the door to the shop opened and this time Bucky was the one who walked in. He carried a plastic bag with the Walgreen’s logo and looked far too pleased with himself before his eyes fell on Steve sitting on the couch. At that point, his expression darkened.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he questioned.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from defensively pointing out, “I’m not an invalid” and barely managed to bite back the urge to add, _And this is also my shop, so I can go wherever I want._

Bucky’s expression softened. “I know that, Steve. How’re you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” he said automatically. “Just a little sick. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” Bucky said. “I’ve got a metric fuckton of medicine and chicken soup with me. How about getting a bit more rest?” Steve was fully prepared to argue when Bucky added, “A little more sleep might clear up this cold of yours. Make me worry a little less.”

Steve looked to Darcy and Clint for help but both of them were nodding their agreement. He sighed and then resignedly turned his attention onto Bucky. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

Maybe Bucky was right. Some meds, some sleep, and he’d be back to normal.

Or he’d wake up hours later needing to go to the hospital because he needed a nebulizer treatment because his lungs were refusing to work.

Knowing his luck, it would be the latter option.

-~-

“A penny for your thoughts?” Thor inquired, drawing Jane out of her head for the moment. It made her aware that she’d been scrubbing and scrubbing at the same exact spot on the counter without making any progress.

She’d been spacey like that all day, since her brief visit with Darcy and Clint over at Shield. She’d run up the wrong items once or twice and a handful of other times she’d found herself having to remake drinks because the person had asked for a latte, not an Americano, or she’d put the wrong flavor shot into their latte. Those were mistakes she hadn’t made since her earliest days working in a coffee shop and she was grateful that none of her coworkers had been there to witness those errors. The last thing she needed was for her boss to get on her case. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I know I’ve been distracted all day.”

“I’ve noticed. What’s on your mind, Jane?”

That was where she became stuck. She’d grown increasingly comfortable with Thor’s presence over the weeks. He would join her either prior to opening or closing when she worked those shifts, to help her out with setup or clean up, and to spend time with her. They’d alternated between the embassy where he lived and her studio apartment, ordering takeout or cooking depending on their moods and her financial status, since she refused to let him pay for every meal. He’d continued to assist her with grading or engage in long discussions with her about her dissertation, helping her revise areas and examine new areas of growth. Her dissertation adviser had even recently noted how impressed he was with the quality of her work, in addition to the fact that she’d been collaborating on a regular basis Dr. Selvig to expand on his theories. 

All of those were areas that Jane had absolutely no difficulty discussing with Thor but those were not the concerns currently plaguing her thoughts. Those concerns were of a much more personal and controversial nature and she had no idea how Thor might respond if she were to discuss those topics with him.

After all, how did one tell their boyfriend that they suspected his brother might have been responsible for recent incidents in her friends’ lives, especially with no proof?

She’d been going through the situation over and over in her mind, trying to figure out if this was irrationality on her part or something that she needed to bring to the attention of the others. She hadn’t even thought twice about the scene she’d witnessed at the time but now, in light of that new information, she was uneasy.

It had been a few days ago, less than a week, that she’d been heading from a lab to her office for her weekly scheduled office hours. At the time, she’d been more intent on hoping and praying that every student wouldn’t be showing up to discuss their current grades or questions on the upcoming term paper and that instead she would have a chance to catch up on grading and even put in some dissertation hours, if there were no interruptions. That had been the only subject on her mind when she noticed Loki’s familiar figure standing near one of the benches outside of the lecture hall, talking to another student. 

Although Jane was in a hurry, she’d slowed down. Since she started dating Thor, she’d had a difficult time gauging how his brother felt about her. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to be friendly outside of their forced interactions inside the embassy or out around the town the few times she’d gone out with Thor. However, as she’d approached, she’d found herself hesitating, particularly on seeing the bruised and stitched together face of the man Loki was speaking with. 

“You shouldn’t let him get away with that,” Loki was saying to the man. “Not after what he did to you. There are still ways that you can show him that you will not stand for this type of treatment. After all, you were the victim in all of this.”

Deterred by the fact that he seemed to be providing advice and comfort to a friend, she’d backed off and headed to her office hours, putting the incident out of her head until this morning when Darcy and Clint’s comments about Steve’s recent string of bad luck brought that all back to the front of her mind.

“Is Loki friends with Rumlow?” she found herself blurting out before she could stop. 

Thor seemed surprised by the question. “Rumlow?” he repeated, frowning the slightest bit. “Not to my knowledge. They have spoken once or twice at parties but I would not consider them to be friends.”

“So, he’s never been over at the embassy or anything like that? And Loki’s never said anything about him?”

“Not that I have ever heard,” Thor replied. “Why do you ask? What seems to be troubling you, Jane?”

She exhaled slowly, weighing the pros and cons. Thor had always perfectly understood everything and anything that she spoke about with him, but this involved his family, his brother, who he was close with despite the fact that they seemed to be completely different people. She had heard through the grapevine over the months about Loki’s tendency towards mischief and trouble but she couldn’t imagine he would have reached these lengths.

Then again, maybe she could. She’d seen the look in his eyes at times, particularly when he looked at his brother and even sometimes when he looked at her: unguarded envy to an almost covetous degree. She had no idea what would lead him to turn those feelings onto someone like Steve and what lengths he might go to – whether he would have orchestrated something as awful as vandalism or even assault – but then, she was getting ahead of herself. Even though Darcy swore up and down that Steve had no idea what would have led Rumlow to attack him like that, there could have been many reasons that Steve wasn’t aware of. Still, even if Loki hadn’t been responsible for that initial attack, it did sound as though he might have been responsible for encouraging the most recent act of vandalism on the shop.

“I have some concerns about your brother,” she finally said. “I heard him speaking to Rumlow – at least I’m pretty sure it was Rumlow, a few days ago – and offering advice. Last night, Steve’s shop, Shield was vandalized. I’m afraid Loki might have encouraged Rumlow to do that.”

There. That wasn’t taking things too far. She wasn’t questioning whether Loki might have been crazy enough to somehow convince another person to severely attack and harm another. She was just musing as to whether he might have been responsible for this latest incident. 

Still, as she waited for Thor to respond, she started to question whether or not she might have misjudged things. She was prepared to retract her statements, say that she must have been mistaken, when she realized that Thor seemed concerned.

“I think that is possible,” he said after a long moment. “Loki has been known to instigate situations in the past, though it has always been hard to prove anything. For a long time, I tried to ignore the rumors, telling myself that people were jealous, that people were creating stories, but the more and more I became aware of the situations unfolding, I began to see that they very well may have been right.”

Jane felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach in response to Thor’s words. She’d been hoping against hope that this was just her imagination, nothing to worry about, but now with confirmation that Thor himself was worried, it occurred to her that that would mean acting on this information.

“That was not what I was hoping to hear. I was hoping I was wrong.” 

“I sadly don’t think you are,” Thor murmured. “The difficulty is going to be finding a method of catching him in his lies or trickery.”

“Would you be willing to do that?” Jane asked. “I mean, he’s your brother. I understand if you’re not comfortable being a part of this situation.”

“I think that he is unlikely to disclose anything to me. He has always been the most suspicious and guarded with me.” 

Jane sighed. “I would imagine that would be the same for me as well.”

“Then who could help with this?” Thor inquired.

Jane thought it over for several long moments. _Who would be willing and capable enough to get that sort of information out of Loki? Who didn’t he know that would be able to pull the wool over his eyes without him realizing?_

When the idea hit her, it seemed so perfectly obvious that Jane wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.

-~-

Bucky set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Steve. Steve’s eyes were cracked open and unfocused; though that was likely due to the dose of Nyquil he’d taken a few hours before. Bucky had encouraged him to sleep and rest and he’d only started waking up around half an hour ago, at which point Bucky had gone to the kitchen to heat up some soup once Steve informed him that he was in fact hungry.

When Steve made no attempt to reach for the bowl, Bucky just did what he could to comfort him. He smoothed back Steve’s hair and automatically placed the back of his metal hand against Steve’s forehead to check his temperature. That was a ridiculous move, given that there was only so much he could gauge with a non-flesh-and-blood arm. 

Steve let out a low moan in response to the touch. “That feels good.”

“What?” Bucky said, surprised by the response.

“I’m so hot and you’re so cold,” Steve said softly. “It feels good.”

For the first time, Bucky’s arm didn’t feel like a hindrance. He kept the metal pressed against Steve’s forehead, feeling the heat of Steve’s body seep into the metal, and when he was sure that his arm had heated up too much to be comforting, he simply flipped his hand over. Steve all but whimpered in response.

“I can keep doing this all night,” Bucky murmured. 

He’d been checking Steve’s temperature on a regular basis, making certain it didn’t rise to a potentially dangerous degree, as well as monitoring Steve’s respiration. Although he’d already had to bring Steve his inhaler more than once, his breathing had evened out fairly quickly after the dosage. Still, Bucky kept an eye on him, just in case things got worse. He had no idea what he’d do if Steve needed to go to the hospital, but that was catastrophizing and not conducive to helping the situation. 

“No, you need to sleep,” Steve rasped out. 

“I will.” That was less of a promise and more of a lie. Bucky doubted that even if he did sleep, it wouldn’t be for long. “You just focus on getting better.”

Apparently encouraged by Bucky’s words, along with potentially feeling more capable of functioning now that Bucky’s arm had cooled him down a bit, Steve managed to sit up a few minutes later and insisted on wandering out of the bathroom and into the living room. Bucky agreed, bringing the bowl of soup with him, and got Steve settled into a brand new nest of blankets on the couch.

Twenty minutes later, the soup was gone and Steve was stretched out, using Bucky as a pillow and sleeping quietly while Bucky watched _Beauty and the Beast_ play on the television.

Bucky had to admit that things could have been worse. Steve was resting and recovering. The two of them were together. He’d managed to complete an errand all on his own earlier that day and now he was fully capable of taking care of Steve’s sick self. None of these things were ones he could have managed a year ago.

If nothing else, he had to admit he was making improvements. 

-~-

It was ten o’clock when her phone rang. 

Sam had just left, issuing apologies and explanations that he had an early morning of work at the VA, as Clint and Natasha both promised him that it was fine and they understood. After all, Sam had just come over for the express purpose of cooking dinner and also, Natasha suspected, because he wanted to check on Clint. She had no doubt in her mind that despite her silence on the matter and Clint’s feeble explanations, Sam was fully aware that there was a whole lot more to Clint’s situation than repeated muggings. He’d taken to stopping by more frequently, which she definitely wasn’t complaining about, as well as texting Natasha throughout the day and slipping in questions about Clint whenever he could. 

The twins were hiding in their bedroom. Despite their comfort with Sam, they tended to isolate themselves when he came over. Natasha wasn’t certain if that was because they were trying to be polite and give Natasha, Sam, and Clint some privacy, or whether they simply felt too uncomfortable around multiple people to stay for any substantial length of time. 

Clint had become Natasha’s own personal pillow for the evening, payback for all of the times he’d recently fallen asleep on her and she’d taken care of him due to his injuries. She had to admit that there wasn’t anything nicer than feeling his fingers thread through her hair while she sipped at a glass of vodka and tried not to think too much about any recent events.

He’d told her about the vandalism at Shield the previous evening, of course, and while he hadn’t gone into great detail, she’d gotten the rest of the information from Bucky, who’d also informed her that Steve was sick. She’d encouraged Bucky to call her if he needed anything, which meant that when her phone rang, her initial reaction was concern that Steve’s condition might have deteriorated and Bucky might have been calling to request help. She steeled herself for managing yet another crisis as she reached for her phone and was surprised when she glanced at the caller ID to see that the number was not one in her contacts list. 

Natasha answered the phone with a wary, “Hello?” 

“Hi, Natasha. It’s Jane.”

Natasha was surprised. She couldn’t even think of the last time she’d spoken more than a handful of words to Jane, given that they tended to run in very different circles and admittedly Bucky had held much of Natasha’s attention throughout the past several months.

“Oh, hi Jane,” she replied. “Is everything okay?”

“Sort of? I was wondering if I could ask a favor.” 

Somehow, Natasha had the feeling that her life was about to get that much more complicated.


	23. And It's Beginning To Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a trip to a Christmas tree farm and holiday decorating occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my delay in posting this chapter and the fact that my next chapter(s) may be delayed as well. Shortly after I posted my last chapter, I ended up in the hospital and ended up having emergency surgery that I am still recovering from. Because I'm back at home and resting, I have more time to write, but painkillers make writing difficult at times.

“Are we there yet?” Pietro asked, for what had to be the thirtieth time since they’d gotten into the car an hour before.

“If we were there yet, the car would be stopping,” Natasha said as calmly as she could manage, while Sam just added, “Yeah, quiet down, kid.” 

Natasha’s attention primarily alternated between the GPS on the dashboard and the map in her hands in an attempt to make certain that they remained on track. Sam focused on navigating the road in front of them. Meanwhile, Clint, Bucky, Steve, and the twins were squished together in the backseat, which was probably doing nothing for Pietro’s overall mood, now that Natasha considered the whole situation. To save room, Steve curled up in Bucky’s lap; admittedly not the safest option, but Bucky’s metal arm probably worked better than a seatbelt most days.

Sam guided the car off of the highway and slowed down as the speed limit on the exit dropped as they moved away from I-70. The sign stated that they were moving into Woodbine, which was exactly where Natasha wanted to be. Although she kept the GPS on and the map out, she easily told Sam where to turn. They moved away from the shopping centers and gas stations that decorated the edge of town right near the exit, and into the more rural neighborhood beyond.

Sam slowed the car down as he drove through the small town, past stores decorated for the holidays, several additionally proclaiming that there was live bait available. He carefully maneuvered the car over a railway stop – doing his best not to jostle everyone packed into the backseat - before winding his way up a hill. At the top of the hill, Natasha told him to take a left and suddenly the small town, with quiet sleepy houses and lighted trees in the front yards that they’d been driving through was gone, replaced by farmland and barns.

“Where the hell are we?” Pietro asked. “What kind of a place is this?”

“The kind of place you go to get the kind of thing we’re looking for,” Natasha said evasively, as Sam made another turn, this time onto a gravel driveway.

“Yeah, and what’re we looking for?” Pietro grumbled. “The best way to get murdered in the woods?”

There was no sign proclaiming the nature of the place they were driving towards, only a mailbox, followed by a driveway with a canopy of bare branches hanging over it. A glance in the rearview mirror showed that almost everyone, with the exception of Clint who’d come with her to this location before, was looking skeptical or downright alarmed in the case of the twins. She could see Pietro forming another protest on his lips as they rounded the bend, and the purpose of their trip became evident as a line of Christmas trees came into view. 

This revelation was met with initial stunned silence before Bucky inquired, “How did you ever find this place?” 

“Word of mouth,” Natasha explained as Sam parked the car in the small parking lot at the end of the road. “Since we moved to DC, my father used to always get his trees from here and I’ve just continued the tradition since living on my own.” She surveyed everyone for a moment. “Alright, let’s go.”

As the others piled out of the car, Natasha made certain that everything was in place. The twins’ faces were covered by half ski masks, similar to the ones that Steve and Bucky were wearing – Steve, because he was still recovering from his cold, and Bucky, who was showing solidarity. Wanda’s hair was mostly hidden beneath a wool hat, while strands of Pietro’s were visible, peaking out from beneath the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing beneath his jacket. Either way, the two of them were not about to be recognized and Natasha had already requested that neither one of them speak, just in case.

The group walked down towards the small house, where they were greeted warmly by the owners of the farm, a husband and wife, who seemed delighted that Natasha had brought an entire group this year and readily offered to show off their top trees to her and her friends. Sam, who’d sworn that he would chop down their tree on his own, kept an axe balanced on one shoulder as the rest of the group followed after Natasha and the couple. Natasha readily kept up a steady stream of conversation, catching up with the family who she hadn’t seen since the previous holiday season. 

She introduced the couple to the others as Anastasia and Dimitri, referring to them as cousins from Russia, which made Clint choke, while the others merely gave Natasha a skeptical look. She provided introductions for the rest of the group to Anastasia and Dimitri, and explained that the twins were exchange students staying with her for the winter holiday, providing their names as Alex and Sara. She added that their grasp on English was minimal but they were excited to find out about the American holiday traditions. 

To prevent any lingering attention on the twins, Bucky quickly chimed in and mentioned that he was Natasha’s friend from New York and was enjoying his first holiday season in DC since being discharged from the military last year. Natasha was grateful to see that his ability to engage in conversation with almost anyone, including complete strangers, was coming back. He’d always been a charmer and quite friendly before. Now, he easily balanced discussing the barest of details about himself with gathering information about the farm – how long the couple had run a Christmas tree business, what they did with the farm during the off-season, and did they have any preference on the best types of trees for Christmas trees? He seemed natural and confident, with none of the hesitation or withdrawal she’d grown accustomed to seeing when he was faced with an unfamiliar situation. 

Once they were in the midst of the rows of Christmas trees, Dimitri ascertained the exact height of tree that Natasha was looking for and then started to point out different options for them. He explained the differences between the different types of trees, the potential benefits or drawbacks, and what to anticipate from each of the trees over time. With three potential trees, Dimitri offered to leave them on their own to make a decision but promised to be close if they needed anything. He also offered to have hot chocolate and hot cider ready and waiting for them once the decision had been made and the tree had been cut down.

Clint blew on his hands before asking, “Remind me again why we didn’t just grab a tree at the five million lots around town?” 

“Because that isn’t half as fun,” Natasha said serenely. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Clint? It’s not as though this is your first year accompanying me on this trip. After all, my father always brought me out to cut down our own tree. I refuse to break that tradition.” 

She looked to the twins, who while quiet, seemed to be quite content to be up and out of the house, which was probably a good thing. She had no doubt that a few more days cooped up inside and there might have been an explosion. While going outside was a potential danger, she had no doubt that with the twins bundled up and 99.9% of their bodies hidden, there was probably limited concern of them being recognized. 

“Since it’s your first holiday season with us, I think the two of you deserve to have a say in which one we choose,” she offered. “Got a preference?”

The twins looked at one another, then at the trees, and then back at one another. Pietro raised an eyebrow in a way that gave the impression of, _Really?_ although he didn’t look particularly unhappy. Natasha gave him a nod to indicate that he could speak, after quickly eyeing the surrounding area to make sure it was empty aside from them, and Pietro immediately started speaking with his sister in Romanian. As the conversation progressed, each of the twins started to look more animated, through their gestures and discussions about the trees. Natasha was increasingly grateful to have brought them because they seemed happier than they had in weeks.

Bucky, meanwhile, moved closer to Steve, who was shivering the slightest bit and wrapped his arms around him. While his arm was still in a cast – and as far as Natasha was aware, would remain in a cast for at least another two or three weeks – he’d finally been given the greenlight to remove the sling and start increasing rotation and movement in the parts of his arm that weren’t immobilized. At the moment, he was using his newfound freedom to slip his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, tugging him closer and trying to warm him up. Steve, for his part, seemed to have no qualms about leaning against Bucky and then tilting his head back against Bucky’s chest so that Bucky could lean down and kiss him. 

Clint and Sam, meanwhile, were in the midst of a best two out of three Rock, Paper, Scissors contest to see which one of them would get the honor of being the manly one to chop down the tree. Natasha contemplated throwing her own name and credentials into the running when there was a tug on the sleeve of her jacket. She refocused on the twins – specifically Wanda, who had been the one trying to get her attention – and Wanda pointed to one of the trees they’d been eying. It was a little smaller than the maximum size Natasha could fit into her living room but it had been her favorite pick as well because of the color and quantity of the pine needles.

“That one?” she confirmed.

Wanda nodded. 

Natasha looked to Sam and Clint. “Alright, lumberjacks, let’s get going.”

-~-

Two hours later, lots of maneuvering and navigating, some blood, sweat, and tears, and several near death experiences for all involved, the tree was in the living room of Natasha’s house, set up in the watering device. There were already pine needles everywhere, including inside of Sam’s SUV, that paved a nice path from the front door into the living room. Sam and Clint sprawled on the floor, amidst the mound of boxes of Christmas decorations they’d brought down from the attic. The twins watched everything with a mix of suspiciousness and curiosity, which was about on par for their normal expressions. Natasha was in the kitchen, working on baking several sets of cookies, while Bucky remained curled up on the couch, Steve nestled against his side, a cup of hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps in each of their hands. Bucky kept a close eye on Steve, monitoring his breathing and looking for any signs that his cold might have crept back, but Steve was breathing fine without any sign of distress or illness. After watching Steve fight off the cold for the majority of the past week – and two visits to Urgent Care when Steve’s inhaler was not enough to get his lungs working and he required a nebulizer treatment, along with heavy duty antibiotics to fight off the infection – the last thing Bucky wanted to see was Steve backslide or relapse.

“Does Natasha always do this?” Sam inquired, interrupting Bucky’s musing. “I mean, is she always this intense about holiday decorating?”

“Always,” Bucky and Clint confirmed. Bucky added, “And it’s always the Friday before Thanksgiving. With most normal people, it’s the Friday after but never for Natasha.”

“First of all, are you calling me abnormal?” Natasha said, as she emerged from the kitchen. “This year we didn’t have a choice, anyways. Not unless you and everyone else are bailing on our Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow evening.”

“I hate to break it to you, Nat, but tomorrow isn’t Thanksgiving,” Steve said.

Natasha offered him a mild glare in response to that. 

“Tomorrow is our Thanksgiving because everyone will be spending the actual holiday with their family or some variation thereof. That means we’re decorating the townhouse tonight for the party tomorrow and I’ll reward those of you who help – and who are of age – with the best spiked eggnog you will ever taste.” 

Clint groaned and made no attempt to move from his position on the floor, but Bucky reluctantly extricated himself from where he was curled up with Steve to start sifting through the boxes. The twins crept forward, apparently curious about the contents. Wanda asked Bucky about each object he took out – whether it was a strand of lights that Koschei promptly started batting around, a bunch of ornaments, or the miniature village Natasha always put up last on the mantle over the fireplace. After several minutes of sifting through the boxes, he handed each of the twins several electronic candles and asked them to start setting them up in the windows around the townhouse. 

Sam moved the boxes filled with the pieces of the miniature village over towards the fireplace and, with Steve’s help, unwound the various garlands that Natasha instructed him to drape over the windows. Clint accepted the task of putting the wreath on the door as Bucky pulled out the ornaments in preparation for decorating the tree. 

He hadn’t realized that he and Natasha were the only ones left in the room until she came over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, her baking abandoned for the moment. 

“It’s good to see you looking like this,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know this isn’t your first holiday back but last year the injuries were still so recent and you were in and out of the hospital the entire time. It’s good to see you looking like yourself again, looking happy.”

“Hey, you know I never could have done this without you,” he pointed out. “You were the one who stayed with me that entire time and didn’t give up on me when things were bad, and then when things were better, you were the one who forced me to step out of my comfort zone.”

“Give yourself at least half of the credit for that one.” She grinned and stuck a holiday bow on his metal arm. “You didn’t have to listen to me and you’ve continued improving things for yourself even without my encouragement. You heading home for Thanksgiving, by the way?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I already have a flight booked for returning home in a couple of weeks for Christmas. I figured one trip in a matter of months was more than I could handle, so Steve invited me to join him and his mom for Thanksgiving.”

“Aww, meeting his mom already?” Natasha asked with a knowing smile. “Seems like you’re moving fast, James.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “How about you?”

“Going over to my dad’s, of course. Clint will be meeting him for the first time.”

“And you’re lecturing me about moving fast with Steve. Is Clint even prepared for that meeting?”

“He’s as prepared as he needs to be,” Natasha said. “I think he can handle it. After all, you’ve given him enough warnings about my father. If anything, he’s over-prepared. He’s probably expecting that my father will eat his heart in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner in a show of dominance.”

“That’s about what I’ve prepared him for,” Bucky said with a grin. “And what about the twins? Will they be coming along?”

Natasha shook her head. “They’ll be staying here with leftovers. I figure that despite everything my father can handle, helping to harbor fugitives probably isn’t one of them. Not with his government position.” 

Any further questions that Bucky had on his mind were silenced when Sam and Steve returned; Steve perched on top of Sam’s shoulders, several garlands strung around his neck as Sam weaved in and out of the doorways. Both were laughing as Sam headed over to the window to allow Steve to drape the last of the decorations over each one. The twins returned as well, before disappearing again with a fresh handful of electronic candles, apparently enjoying the task they’d been sent on. Clint returned as well, his task of setting up the wreath on the door completed, and started organizing the ornaments for decorating the tree. Bucky noted a practiced ease in his choice of organization, a clear sign that over the past few years Clint and Natasha had known each other, he’d gotten used to her quirks and traditions around the holiday season.

Naturally, the decorating of the tree proved to be the most difficult task, particularly because everyone had far too much input about where each ornament would go and that had to be decided first. Of course, once the ornaments started going onto the tree, Natasha realized they hadn’t put the lights up yet, which could throw every decision they’d already made off. Given that Bucky had been sitting back and watching while the others decorated the rest of the townhouse, he accepted the responsibility of getting the strand of colored lights untangled and wrapping it around the tree. 

He was working his way down when he caught sight of two green glowing orbs peering out from between the branches. Before he could stop and think, he reacted instinctively. He leapt back, promptly tripping over a box, and ended up on the floor, the colored lights somehow tangling around him as he went down. From the tree, there was a yowl and then several thumps as Koschei lost his balance and fell through the remainder of the branches to land on the floor below. Before Natasha could rush forward to comfort him, he bolted, his claws sliding across the wooden floor and sending him skittering into the wall, at which point he disappeared up the stairs.

There was about half a second of stunned silence before 90% of the people in the room descended into hysterical laughter. Clint sprawled on the floor, tears already streaming down his face as he laughed. Sam was still on his feet and laughing – and there was a phone in his hand that Bucky had no doubt was recording this entire fiasco – and Steve was all but eating his fist in an attempt to stop himself from joining into the laughter.

“Are you okay?” Steve managed to ask, without laughing too much in the process. 

Bucky scowled. “I’m fine. I hate cats.”

“It was just Koschei,” Steve pointed out as he offered Bucky a hand to help him up. 

“That was just Koschei,” Bucky agreed. “But Kisa used to do that too. She would sit in the tree, waiting for me to walk by, and then leap out with her claws extended, going straight for my eyes. As soon as I saw a cat in the tree, I expected that would happen.”

“So, what you’re saying is that cat traumatized you,” Sam said. “Well, buddy, I got it all on film. You’ll be a YouTube sensation sooner or later.”

There were footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, Wanda came in with Koschei in her arms, followed close behind by her brother. 

“He was hiding under the hall table upstairs,” she explained. “What happened?”

Koschei made a sad sound as Natasha scooped him up from Wanda’s arms and scratched him behind the ears. Sam, meanwhile, had been more than happy to show the twins the footage of Koschei falling from the tree and Bucky ending up on his ass. Soon, everyone was laughing again, and once everyone helped to untangle him from the lights, even Bucky had to grudgingly accept that it had been a pretty hilarious moment.

With the lights untangled, working together got them onto the tree fairly quickly. From there, the final adjustments to the ornaments were minimal. Soon the tree was set up and everything was officially decorated in the townhouse. The mini town went up on the mantle over the fireplace, with everyone pitching in to help figure out where the townspeople should go, as well as where each individual building should be.

Soon after, everyone claimed a spot in the living room, determined to recover from the morning outing and the great holiday decorating. Bucky and Steve abandoned the couch to the twins and moved to the beanbag chair instead, while Natasha, Clint, and Sam quickly staked their claim on the other couch. Everyone, including the twins, despite Natasha’s reluctance to provide them with alcohol, had a glass of the spiked eggnog. After only a few sips, Bucky could already feel the alcohol threading its way through his veins, relaxing his body as he all but melted against Steve. Steve nuzzled his face against the crook of Bucky’s throat, and Bucky bit back a sound that probably would have been considered inappropriate in the company of others.

Natasha had already informed both Steve and Bucky that they were expected to stay for the night, reminding Bucky that there was a reason she hadn’t rented his room out yet, and neither Steve nor Bucky had the heart to protest. With how he was feeling now, Bucky had absolutely no inclination to return to the apartment over the shop, although in the back of his mind, he did worry that another unprovoked attack could occur on Shield in their absence. Of course, Tony had set up the cameras so that if anything did happen, at least they’d have the evidence to bring to the police. Plus, the cameras themselves should provide a nice deterrent. 

At least that was what Bucky kept telling himself.

On the television, Charlie Brown was contending with the saddest looking Christmas tree ever. In the corner of the room, the multicolored lights on Natasha’s own, much less sad looking tree, provided the greatest source of illumination besides the TV itself. The electronic candles on the mantle and in the windows, as well as the ones tucked inside the village over the fireplace, provided less light but definite atmosphere. 

Koschei curled up on the mantle, waging a war against the nice, quaint miniature country town that Natasha had set up. His tail twitched back and forth, as he chomped down on the head of one of the poor villagers. Natasha got up for the tenth time, in order to remove the mutilated body from his mouth before he could choke. 

His tail movements sent another several villagers falling to the floor – and Bucky suspected there might have been another few lost limbs due to that.

“If this continues, you won’t have much of a village left by Christmas, Nat,” Clint said.

“Still not as bad as Kisa,” Bucky said bitterly. “I mean, yeah, Koschei’s chewing on them and knocking them off the ledge to their deaths, but Kisa used to tear through the village Natasha’s family set up like she was Godzilla and determined to reign down hellfire and mayhem. She was vindictive and vicious. Koschei is just… curious.” 

“You always spin things in the most negative light for Kisa,” Natasha said. “Clint’s seen the pictures. He’s seen how sweet she was. She was my baby.” 

“She’s seen _your_ pictures,” Bucky said darkly. “Let’s see how his opinion changes when he sees the ones I have of that demonic cat.” 

“Stop being a Grinch, Barnes,” Sam said with a grin. “You’re ruining the holiday spirit.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and took another sip of the eggnog, then another, and by that point, he was starting to forget why it had seemed so important to rant about Kisa and her inherently evil qualities. Koschei continued to play with the villagers, Natasha refused to give the twins a second drink, the rest of the household became progressively more intoxicated, and Charlie Brown soon paved the way to _Home Alone_. With Steve pressed securely against his side, fingers interlaced with Bucky’s own, Bucky allowed himself to relax and stop worrying about all of the recent events that were completely out of his control for the time being.


	24. And My Eyes Fill With Sand, As I Scan This Wasted Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha hosts a Friendsgiving event, which is primarily a disaster due to the attendance of one Tony Stark. In other news, Bucky receives some upsetting news and Steve makes quite a few poor decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Between recovering from the surgery and the holidays and traveling, this chapter took a bit longer than expected. The next chapter may also be somewhat delayed, as I am currently traveling for the remainder of the holidays, although it is about 75% written.
> 
> Happy belated and upcoming holidays to all! :)

“We’ve got bad news.”

Steve sighed and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the drawing he’d been working on. He automatically flexed his fingers in the hopes of easing the cramps that still plagued him when he drew. Bucky stood in the doorway; a piece of paper in his hand, looking frustrated and fed up. Steve motioned for Bucky to join him on the couch. He carefully placed his work to the side, and tried not to worry too much about whether his inspiration might have faded by the time he was able to resume work.

“What’s going on?” He hoped that his tone did not show just how much he did not want to know the answer to that question.

“Looks like someone – I’m guessing Rumlow – filed a complaint against me based on that incident.” Bucky handed the paper over to Steve. “There’s going to be an investigation and my license may very well be in jeopardy.” 

“Shit,” Steve groaned. “Of course someone did. Of – fucking – course. Alright. We’ll… we’ll figure this out, Buck. There’s got to be something we can do.”

“I’m not sure there is, Steve,” Bucky said with a frown. “I assaulted the man with a piercing needle. I’m pretty sure that’s easily grounds for removing my license.” 

Steve took several deep breaths. “There’s nothing we can do about this right this second. Once we have a chance to stop and think, we’ll come up with a game plan. Even if you can’t pierce, we’ll figure something out. We’ll fight this.” 

“Shit, Steve, I don’t want to put you through another whole mess because of my stupidity,” Bucky said.

Steve fought the urge to shake him for already slipping into his guilt-ridden tendencies. 

“We’re partners, Buck. We’re in this mess together.”

He brushed back Bucky’s hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear, and then tugged Bucky closer until his forehead rested against Steve’s shoulder. Bucky exhaled a ragged, pent up breath as Steve’s fingers combed through his hair, and after a few moments, his breathing evened out.

“Don’t let this ruin today,” Steve said, when Bucky finally seemed relaxed and potentially receptive to what Steve had to say. “We’ve got Friendsgiving at Natasha’s tonight. Let’s focus on that and having fun. Then we’ll have tomorrow to focus on creating a game plan for when we can call on Monday.”

Bucky sighed tiredly and murmured, “Alright, Steve.” 

Steve hated to hear him sound that exhausted when they’d barely been awake for a matter of hours, especially when Bucky had been doing so much better recently. The nightmares and flashbacks and headaches had decreased to what Bucky swore was his normal level. Now that he had his sling off, he’d even been spending more time helping out around Shield, completing inventory, helping Darcy restock the jewelry, and Steve had noticed that with more of a purpose to his day, Bucky’s mood increased all the more.

Now he’d gotten hit with the loss of that purpose. Steve knew he’d been counting the days until he could return to work, just as Steve himself still was, but at least Steve had classes and physical therapy to keep him occupied. Bucky had only had those few months of reengaging with the workforce, but Steve had seen how Bucky’s evaluation of himself and overall state of mind changed as he got used to the work and the routine and felt confident in himself and his abilities.

The fact that Rumlow would have found a way to take that away from him, while not surprising, absolutely infuriated Steve. Steve was even more furious with himself for not specifying that in the deal that he’d struck with Rumlow. He should have known that Rumlow would find some sort of way to lash out and get back at Bucky.

“Robocop?” Darcy’s voice called from downstairs. “Think you could help me track down my cell phone? I think I lost it when we were doing inventory.”

Bucky reluctantly pulled way from Steve and called back, “Sure, Darce. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve watched him carefully compose his expression, enough that he was even able to manage a faint smile to Steve as he murmured, “For someone who’s on her phone all the time, Darcy manages to misplace it a lot.”

“That’s Darcy for you,” Steve said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes to help out, okay?” He hesitated before adding, “Everything will be okay, Buck. I promise.”

Bucky nodded automatically as he got to his feet and softly said, “Thanks,” before heading downstairs.

Once he was gone, Steve reached for his phone and dialed the far too familiar number. He half-hoped that the other line wouldn’t be answered and he could just leave a message, even though it would be nice to have some sort of resolution or at least a light at the end of the tunnel.

No such luck. After three rings, the phone was picked up.

“Stark speaking. What happened this time, Rogers?”

Steve did his best to quell the defensive anger that surged in response to Tony’s words. After all, it wasn’t as though Tony was wrong, something else had happened, but the presumption that more things would happen and that Steve would be calling for help automatically irked him. 

“Remember how you offered to help if there were any additional repercussions for Bucky’s assault on Rumlow?” Steve said, forcing out each word with considerable effort.

“Wow, Rogers, are you really calling to ask me for help? This must be pretty serious.”

“It is. It’s also something that’s probably going to mean getting your hands dirty and you’re one of the few people I know who would be willing to do that.” 

“Keep going, Rogers.” There was a slight edge to Tony’s voice. “Call my morality into question. You’re really making me want to help you.” 

Steve forced himself to take a slow, deep, measured breath. “Tony, I’m desperate. We just got a letter. Rumlow – the man who assaulted me and Bucky subsequently assaulted - lodged a complaint against Bucky. They might take his license.“

“And, what, you think I might be able to pay off some government officials? Something like that?” Tony asked.

Steve’s composure slipped. “You said you would help. I’m asking for help, whatever that entails.”

There were several moments of silence during which Steve all but ground his teeth together in frustration before Tony said, “Alright. Send me a copy of the letter. I’ll run a couple of plans by my lawyer and then see about contacting whoever is conducting the investigation.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said gratefully. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just put it all on my tab or something,” Tony said. “Consider this my investment in making certain you don’t have to hire another piercist this year because between everything recently, I have no doubt the shop’s already lost enough money.”

“We’ve got a plan for making that money up,” Steve said quickly. “I’ll show it to you the next time you come by.”

“I’m holding you to that, Rogers. Anything else I should know about while I’ve got you on the phone?” 

Steve started to say no and then hesitated. After Tony’s willingness to help, he felt as though he should do something to repay him, and an idea – a completely batshit insane idea – came into his mind. Over the years, he’d noticed that Tony’s erratic patterns of behavior tended to get even worse around the holidays. He wasn’t a psychologist but if he were to psychoanalyze Tony, he’d guess that coping with the death of Tony’s parents was always harder during that time, especially since their deaths had occurred shortly before Christmas.

He had no doubt that Tony would be spending the actual holiday by himself, given that he had no family and Steve could pretty much guarantee that Pepper, the only source of consistent stability in Tony’s life, would be spending time with her own family over the holiday. While he wasn’t about to extend an invitation for Thanksgiving, given that he was already spending the holiday with his mother and Bucky, there was one thing he could offer for to him.

The words left his mouth before he could even fully formulate his thoughts and think through whether this was a good idea or a bad idea. 

“Natasha’s having a little get-together this evening at around 6:30 for an early Thanksgiving dinner. If you weren’t doing anything else, you’d be welcome to come. No need to bring anything, except maybe a bottle of wine if you wanted.”

“A date, is it, Rogers?” Tony inquired. “I can understand the invitation. I mean, it would be a pretty boring event without me. I’ll definitely be there. After all, I still need to get to know Barnes.”

By the time Tony finished speaking, Steve was 99.9% certain that he’d made a terrible mistake inviting Tony but he couldn’t exactly go back on his words. All he could do was warn the others about the mistake he’d made and hope that Tony didn’t make a complete mess of things.

Besides, hosting a drunken, belligerent Tony Stark was worth it if Tony could somehow keep Bucky from losing his license. 

He should probably call Natasha to let her know before Tony arrived without warning and Natasha murdered them both.

-~-

Tony had barely hung up from his conversation with Steve when he heard Pepper calling his name. He tucked his cell phone back into his pocket and weighed the pros and cons of waiting for her to find him versus finding her himself. She already sounded irritated and he doubted that irritation would decrease if she had to find him. On the other hand, she should have realized where he was – because he was where he always was when he wasn’t in meetings - which kind of made this her fault, rather than his.

As a result, it was several minutes later when she stormed into his lab, ordering JARVIS to cut the music Tony had left playing while he worked. As AC/DC faded into the background, he abandoned the latest design he’d been working on and turned to face Pepper, who stood in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. 

“Did you not hear me calling for you?” she inquired.

“I was working,” Tony said, rather than directly answering the question. “What’s up? You seem mad at me. What did I do this time?”

“Where should I start? Maybe with the fact that I’m working on a weekend-”

“Because you offered to work this weekend in exchange for taking the week off,” Tony pointed out. 

“Alright, then how about with the meeting you blew off without any warning to me-”

“I can explain that,” Tony contested. “I had another pressing engagement.”

“-oh, that was a fun phone call to receive, particularly when I had no explanation for why you weren’t there,” Pepper continued. “Or the fact that you haven’t reviewed or signed any of the proposals I’ve left on your desk recently.”

“You know that I need you to discuss those with me,” Tony argued. “You have such a better sense of what we’re getting into if I agree to those proposals and you haven’t had the chance to give me a rundown on any of them.” 

“That shouldn’t even be my job, Tony,” Pepper said in utter exasperation. “With everything else you’ve dumped on me for keeping this corporation running, I don’t have the time to handle additional responsibilities, like summarizing the proposals that you with your off the charts IQ are more than capable of reading.”

“Do you want to come out with me tonight?” Tony asked.

That stopped the conversation in its tracks.

Pepper all but gaped at him, and he considered that his timing might not have been the best.

“Tony, did you just ask me out on a date to stop an argument?” 

“I asked you on a date because I wanted to ask you on a date.” 

Pepper exhaled slowly. “Tony, even you have to realize that that’s completely unethical and unprofessional and not going to happen because you are my boss and I am your employee. Do you happen to recall what happened the last time you decided to have a relationship with one of your employees and our long discussion about sexual harassment charges as a result?” 

“That wasn’t a relationship,” he clarified before he shrugged one shoulder and flippantly said, “It was worth a shot.” Any other response was far too likely to show that he actually cared that she’d said no.

Despite that, he noticed that her expression softened. He took that as his cue to resume working on the latest set of designs he’d been focused on when she came in. Her footsteps came closer and his response was automatic.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, Pep. These designs aren’t going to finish themselves and you’re right, I’m behind on those proposals.”

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and her voice was gentle as she said, “Thank you for the invitation, Tony. Have a good Thanksgiving and I’ll see you after. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he echoed, averting his gaze. “There’s a card for you on the table with a holiday bonus. Don’t spend it all in one place.” 

He waited until her footsteps moved away to look up, scanning the area through the glass walls of his lab to make certain Pepper was actually gone, before he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the flask tucked inside a hollowed out copy of Aristotle’s _Physica_ , and took a long sip.

He might as well get this party started early.

-~-

Natasha tried very, very hard to maintain her composure but for whatever reason, Steve seemed determined to make that difficult.

She forced herself to take several deep breaths before she asked, “What do you mean you invited Tony Stark tonight?”

She could practically hear Steve wince through the phone. “I’m sorry, Nat. I wasn’t thinking. At least I’m calling now?” 

“Because you’re expecting me to call Tony and discuss the little problem we have with the harbored fugitives,” Natasha said darkly.

“I could do it,” Steve offered immediately. “I can make that call.”

“You don’t have to. It makes more sense for me to talk to him. I’m going to need to be 110% certain that he can keep his goddamn mouth shut before I let him inside and that means that I should probably talk to him myself.”

“I’m still sorry,” Steve said miserably. “I wasn’t thinking. At least not about that. Bucky might be losing his piercing license and I just panicked.”

This time it took more than a few deep breaths for Natasha to keep her voice from betraying her emotions when she next spoke.

“What do you mean ‘Bucky might be losing his piercing license?’”

“Someone, probably Rumlow, filed a complaint against him and now there’s going to be an investigation. I called Stark to begin with in the hopes of getting his help. The invitation just kinda came afterwards, as a method of thanking him.”

“Wonderful,” Natasha said with a sigh. “Alright. That’s another situation for me to deal with.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve all but snapped. “I’m dealing with it. You deal with Stark, I’ll deal with everything going on here.”

“Fair enough. Alright, I’ll call Tony and I’ll see you and James tonight.”

With that, she hung up. No point in waiting to see what, if anything, Steve might have said in response to that. She had more important things on her plate, like making certain she could trust Tony to keep the secret of the twins. She dialed his number and waited for him to pick up. When he did, she immediately regretted every decision in her life because she could hear in his voice that he was already drunk and by her estimations, it was barely 11:00 AM.

“Hello, tall, red, and deadly,” he greeted her. “To what do I own the honor?”

“Seriously, Stark? Are you kidding me? Are you already drinking?” 

“Relax, Red. I had a couple of sips of vodka. I’m fine. What’s up?” 

“The fact that you’re self-destructing, which seems to only be a concern to me,” she muttered and then regained her composure. “I just got off of the phone with Steve. He mentioned that he’d issued you an invitation to tonight’s dinner and there was something I wanted to speak with you about.” 

“Going to disinvite me, Red?”

“I’m hoping not to but I need you to prove me wrong about everything that I think about you. I need to believe that you can keep a secret. Can you do that or the next time you get shitfaced, are you going to open your goddamn mouth and tell everyone?”

“I can keep secrets,” Tony said defensively. “I don’t always open my mouth.” 

“You do sometimes,” Natasha pointed out. “Know that if you fuck this up and tell anyone about this, I will literally murder you in your sleep and please keep in mind that I’m not joking. Before you come over tonight, you need to know that we have some… guests staying with us, and by guests I mean the Maximoff twins.”

There was a long moment of silence, long enough that Natasha checked to make certain the call hadn’t been dropped, because it wasn’t like Tony to be silent for this long.

“Tony?” she questioned when there was still no response. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, and his voice sounded off, almost cracked. “Trust me, Nat, I won’t be telling anyone that they’re there. I’m just glad to hear they’re safe.”

“What’s that?” she asked, despite her better judgment. “Tony Stark having a heart?”

“Fuck you, Natasha,” he returned, and there was a bite to his words. “I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. Is that good enough for you?”

“That’s good enough,” she acknowledged. “I’ll see you tonight, Stark. Please don’t show up completely obliterated and drunk.” 

“No promises,” he said, and then the call was disconnected, and Natasha was left wondering how much of a train wreck this dinner was going to be.

-~-

The text messages started coming around noon, asking about food and preparation and finally questioning whether Clint might be able to get off of work a little early to help out. Given that he had a booked solid schedule – apparently all of the local students were determined to get tattooed right before heading home for Thanksgiving dinner in order to have another talking point during the meal and to alienate family members who might be against things like tattoos – he’d had to decline. He’d suggested the twins, which Natasha immediately nixed, and then questioned whether Sam might be able to help out – another negative, since Sam had responsibilities at the VA all day and three essays to finish – which meant that Clint had to figure out if there was anyone else who might be able to help out. Immediately, he’d headed upstairs to track down Barnes and Rogers.

He’d seen Bucky earlier that day, looking sadder than usual, but he hadn’t pushed things or questioned anything too much given that Bucky was functioning well enough to help Darcy with inventory. Or, at the least, he’d been functioning well enough before whatever happened to make him look sad and dejected for the rest of the day.

Still, he couldn’t afford to miss work. Bucky could. Therefore, it made the most sense to send Bucky – and probably Steve – off to join Natasha to make sure the cooking would be finished in time for the festivities that evening. He’d considered asking Darcy but she’d already declined the invitation to Natasha’s house for the evening, informing Clint that she already had a pressing engagement with Jane and Thor and one of Thor’s friends. She hadn’t used the word “double date” but Clint suspected that was exactly what was happening. He could only imagine that she would need those hours spent helping Natasha to prepare for her evening out.

He knocked on the door and waited until Steve gave him the all clear to come inside. He opened the door to find Bucky and Steve sitting on the couch, Bucky massaging Steve’s hands. Steve’s jaw was clenched in a futile attempt to hide the pain he was apparently in. Bucky was intent on his work and barely even glanced up at Clint, much more focused on continuing to ease the knots and tension out of Steve’s hands.

“Hey, this a bad time?” Clint asked a bit hesitantly, debating whether he should just head back downstairs.

“It’s fine, Clint,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder back at him. “I needed to prepare my portfolio for one of my classes and I just pushed myself a little too hard. What’s up?”

“I just got off of the phone with Nat. She’s struggling to get everything done for tonight on her own and I was wondering if one or maybe both of you might be able to head to the townhouse and help her out.”

Steve and Bucky shared a look. Clint was somewhat amazed that after their relatively short time together, they’d already mastered the art of silent, telepathic communication. He still struggled to figure out what the hell Natasha was thinking and he’d known her for a hell of a lot longer.

“We can do that,” Bucky said after a moment. “Let her know we’ll be over in half an hour or so.” 

Clint accepted the answer and said, “Will do. Yell if you guys need anything between then and now.” 

He headed back down the stairs, noticing that Bucky was still working on Steve’s hands as he left. There was a little bit of guilt as it occurred to him that despite the fact that he’d been convinced both of them were doing better, it was more than evident that both were struggling. 

He tried to put those thoughts out of his mind. As much as he wanted to save them, he had no doubt that, despite the fact that he wanted to, he couldn’t fix everyone.

-~-

“Goddamn motherfucking piece of shit,” Natasha growled at the mixer, which had abruptly decided that mixing was not happening today.

Natasha was absolutely and completely fed up and regretting each and every one of her choices. She never should have offered to host a Thanksgiving dinner for her friends. She never should have said that she could handle making the majority of the meal herself, aside from putting a few dishes in the hands of her friends. She shouldn’t have spent as much time taking care of all of her friends at the expense of taking care of herself. She shouldn’t have taken in two wanted fugitives and –

And that was the thought that stopped her and shook her out of those thoughts. If she hadn’t taken in the twins, they might be back with their adoptive father, and she wasn’t about to put two kids back in a horrifically abusive situation. Even if they weren’t back with him, they would have been out on the street in the middle of winter and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. 

“Um, Natasha?” a voice spoke up from the side, and she glanced over to see Wanda standing there, looking awkward and nervous. “Is everything okay?” 

Despite the fact that she’d done more deep breathing today than she’d probably done in her entire life, she took another several deep breaths before saying, “Everything’s fine, Wanda. I’m just having some difficulty with my appliances.”

“Anything I could help with?” Wanda asked.

Natasha started to say no and then stopped herself. There were plenty of things that Wanda could help with and one more set of hands in the kitchen was bound to speed the entire process up.

“If you’re offering, I’m not about to say no,” she said, managing a slight laugh. “Sure. I could definitely use a second set of hands.”

Moments later, Wanda was working on mashing the potatoes, while Natasha checked on the turkey to make certain it was cooking well, and just as she was trying to find an alternative to using the broken mixer, the front door opened. She frowned, a bit concerned given that last she’d heard from Clint, he wouldn’t be able to come, and there were few other people who had the key to her townhouse. As she moved warily towards the front door, her phone chimed as a text message was received and she automatically glanced back towards where she’d left it on the counter.

Natasha looked back to find herself practically face-to-face with Bucky and Steve. She barely managed to suppress the urge to take down one or both of them, given how much they’d startled her. Bucky seemed to register that he’d come within a second of being punched in the face or put in a chokehold, given that he took a step back and raised his hands.

“It’s just us,” he said quickly. “Clint said you needed some help, so me and Steve came over. I’m guessing he forgot to tell you that, huh?”

“I’m guessing he just did,” she said with a sigh. “Glad to have another two sets of hands on deck though.” 

She studied Bucky’s face – particularly in light of the bombshell Steve had dropped earlier when she’d talked to him – and found little of notable concern. The biggest worry she had was that the haunted look had come back into his eyes. Over the past several months, she’d seen that look decrease overall, aside from the brief reappearance with the entire incident with Rumlow had gone down, and now it was back. Not as deep and oppressive than it had been before but enough of it that she could see.

Still, he fixed her with a smile and sounded cheerful as he asked what she needed him to do. She had no qualms about putting the two of them to work. Soon there were so many hands in the kitchen that Natasha realized there was little for her to continue working on. Instead, she made one last check of the food cooling in the fridge and the food still cooking and baking in the oven.

Maybe, just maybe, this dinner was going to be less of a disaster than she’d been worrying about.

-~-

When the limo pulled up in front of the townhouse, Tony found himself irritated because that meant abandoning the half a whiskey sour that he was still working on. He’d done a decent job overall at curtailing his alcohol consumption throughout the day but he refused to not at least be a little bit buzzed when he arrived at the townhouse. Then, with a shrug, he just downed the rest of the glass in one gulp. No point in wasting good alcohol.

He typically didn’t travel in the limo – he was less than comfortable with someone else driving the car he was in – but he had enough DUIs on his record. He had no doubt that with the upcoming holidays, the chances of being caught driving under the influence would be high. Not to mention that drinking while driving – because he was determined to consume at least one drink while in transit, that way the alcohol would be newly in his system when he arrived - would probably land him in jail for the night. Somehow he doubted that having to bail him out from jail would endear him to Pepper.

As he approached the front door, he took a moment to straighten out his jacket and smooth down his hair before ringing the doorbell. The door opened a few moments later. Natasha stood there, clad in a green dress that set off her auburn hair and blue eyes in a rather stunning manner. She seemed less than pleased to see him, despite the fact that he fixed her with his best smile – although that might have been due to the fact that she’d seen his appraising gaze as his eyes quickly skimmed her body.

“Hello, Tony,” she said, and her voice was a bit warmer than her eyes suggested. “Good to see you.”

“Evening, Natasha,” he returned as he stepped inside. “Hope I’m not late.”

“Right on time, actually.” She closed the door behind him. “Most everyone else is already here though.” 

He offered her the bottle of champagne in his hand, just as there was the sound of a door shutting from upstairs. He looked up to see two somewhat familiar faces, though years older and with far different hairstyles than he’d seen before, staring at him from behind the stair railings, apparently unwilling to come any closer to him. He fixed them with a grin.

“You must be the Maximoff twins,” he said brightly. “No clue if you remember me, but I’m Tony Stark.”

“We remember you,” the girl – Wanda, he thought her name was – said warily. 

There were a few moments of silence as they continued to watch him from the top of the stairs, peering at him like wary animals, and he finally couldn’t help himself.

“I didn’t know you adopted two cats,” Tony said. “They don’t seem too friendly.” 

“We’re not cats,” the boy – Pietro – snarled at him. 

“Whoa there, kid,” Tony said with a grin, before commenting to Natasha, “He’s a feisty one.” 

“I’d consider stopping my mouth if I were you, Stark,” Natasha said with a raised eyebrow. “He might jump off that railing on top of you. I wouldn’t put it past him. You’re my guest. Stop antagonizing my wards.”

“Your wards? What, are we in the 1600s or something?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “How about joining the others, Stark?” 

“Sure. Will the feral children be joining us as well?” 

Natasha shoved him towards the living room before either of the twins had the chance to issue a retort to that comment. Spread out around the room were quite a few familiar faces. Steve and Bucky sat on the couch, sipping glasses of what looked like spiked eggnog – and wasn’t Tony pleased to see that the alcohol was already flowing – with Clint and another person, Tony thought his name might have been Sam, sitting on the other couch, Clint focused on devouring the plate of crackers and cheese that was sitting in front of him. He saw that Sam’s arm was wrapped around Clint’s shoulder and he made a mental note to follow up on that connection, particularly when Natasha leaned down to press a kiss to both Sam’s and Clint’s lips as she entered the room. 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked Tony as she straightened up. “If you’re looking for the alcoholic drinks, I’ve got spiked hot chocolate and eggnog, as well as a nice spiked warm cider. There’s also an entire bar plus plenty of non-alcoholic drinks.” 

“I’ll take a martini,” he said, after a moment’s contemplation.

As he settled into one of the chairs, the others offered greetings to him, Steve looking a bit wary, and it occurred to Tony for the first time that perhaps he hadn’t told Bucky about his conversation with Tony earlier or perhaps anything else involving him. For an instant, Tony considered talking around the issue to see what Steve’s reaction would be, but he managed to suppress that urge. Not enough alcohol in his system for that to seem like a good idea at this time. After all, he didn’t want Natasha to literally throw him out of the townhouse. 

The twins peered out from the doorway before slinking their way into the room – at least that was how it looked to Tony – and quickly taking a seat on the ridiculous beanbag chair that Natasha had left in the room. When Natasha came back with his martini, she also had two glasses of the spiked eggnog in her other hand, which she presented to the twins. Tony raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. If anything, he was impressed by the fact that Natasha was breaking all the rules: harboring fugitives, giving underage kids alcohol, it really just increased his respect for her.

Keeping an eye on the different dynamics in the room, Tony leaned back in his seat. Between learning more about Steve’s new boyfriend, whatever was going on between Clint, Sam, and Natasha, and the reappearance of the twins, this was bound to be an interesting night. 

-~-

Bucky had spent the evening trying to draw on every mindfulness technique that Dr. Jones had ever taught him. With the bombshell dropped on him that morning about the complaint lodged against him, he’d been having an increasingly harder time staying in the present moment. On the plus side, his difficulty staying present was mostly due to worries about the upcoming investigation and the fear of losing his license, rather than flashbacks or dissociating, which he had to admit was a step in the right direction. Still, given that he really wanted to enjoy this evening, the fact that he had a hard time staying out his head was becoming increasingly frustrating to him.

He also had to admit that he was somewhat uncomfortable with Tony’s presence. Ever since he first met the guy, he’d felt less than settled when he was around. Maybe that was because he’d made the metal arm for him and that was an uncomfortable topic for him. Maybe it was because he knew that Tony wanted to interrogate him because he was dating Steve. He couldn’t entirely figure out why Tony would care who was dating Steve but for whatever reason he seemed to want to know.

It probably also wasn’t helping that by this point, he was a little drunk. Bucky knew he shouldn’t have been hitting the alcohol quite as hard as he had been, but it was regularly flowing and he wasn’t about to turn down another glass of wine, even after he’d already had plenty of spiked eggnog and cider while helping out with the cooking and during appetizer hour. Now, sitting at the dining room table, he was already on his second glass of wine and they were all still working on their first plate of food.

He’d caught Steve giving him a few looks and he’d done his best to studiously ignore them. At the least, Natasha had been strategic in her positioning at the table. She’d put Bucky in-between her and Steve and made certain that Sam was across from them. She’d then ensured that Clint was between Tony and the twins because she’d clearly wanted to avoid World War III erupting at the table.

“So, Barnes, tell me about yourself,” Tony said.

Bucky took another sip – alright, gulp - of wine before responding. “Not much to say. You know most of it already. I’m a vet. I lost my arm in Iraq. I’ve known Natasha forever. I do piercings at Shield and I’m dating Steve. That about sums me up.”

“Nah, I’m sure there’s more to you than that,” Tony replied, accompanied by an infuriating shit-eating grin. 

“Stark, this is your final warning that I will not tolerate you interrogating my friends while we’re eating Thanksgiving dinner,” Natasha said.

Tony looked unconcerned. “You haven’t even given me the first warning though, Red.”

“That was your first and last warning,” she said, pointedly carving another piece of meat off of the turkey.

“What about you, Tony?” Steve challenged, and Bucky realized that apparently Steve was just as done with Tony as Bucky was himself. “Bucky’s told you about himself. You willing to tell him about yourself?”

“Most of my life’s public,” Tony pointed out.

Bucky caught Steve’s muttered response of, “Yeah, a public spectacle.” 

Tony ignored him. “I’m just saying, given that I’m in the public eye most of the time, there’s not a whole lot that’s not known about me. I’m a prodigy, a genius if you will. I graduated from MIT at 18 and I’ve been running Stark Enterprises since the age of 20.”

“And the technology he creates and sells to the highest bidder is questionable at best,” Steve said, this time a bit more loudly than his previously muttered comment.

Bucky caught the twins, who’d been silent throughout the meal, exchange a look in response to the question. He couldn’t blame them, he felt the same way: completely confused and at a loss for what was going on.

“Watch yourself, Rogers. That technology is what gave your boyfriend a new arm. I just go where the money is.”

“And you don’t care who your hurt in the process,” Steve retorted.

It was at that point that Natasha cut into their conversation. “I am two seconds away from killing both of you. Quit the snarking and enjoy the meal. If you need to have a lovers’ spat, do it elsewhere.” 

That comment threw Bucky off completely. He’d just been questioning where the animosity between Tony and Steve stemmed from. Was it possible that it was because the two of them had previously had a relationship? 

He tried not to let his thoughts go any further. Natasha might just have been being snarky herself. Those words might not have meant what he thought they did. 

Even if they did mean that Tony and Steve used to date or fuck or whatever it was they did, that wasn’t something Steve had to disclose to him. It wasn’t as though he’d told Steve about all of his previous partners. The only reason Natasha had come up was because of their recent relationship and the fact that he hadn’t wanted Steve to feel awkward with their continued friendship.

Still, Tony was the owner of the shop and he was around a lot. Wasn’t that something that should have come up?

He drained the rest of his wine in one long gulp and immediately refilled the glass, averting his eyes when he felt Steve’s gaze on him, giving him a questioning look.

-~-

“So, what’s with you and Red and Sam?” Tony slurred.

Clint regretted his life and his choices as he helped Tony down the front steps of the townhouse and out to the limo waiting there. He would have left babysitting the drunk Stark to Natasha or anyone else, but Natasha was busy dealing with Bucky, whose stomach seemed to have determined that consuming an entire wine bottle on top of several prior drinks was not the best decision and was now rebelling. Last he’d checked, Bucky was miserably crouched on the bathroom floor, paying homage to the porcelain god as Steve and Natasha held his hair away from his face and rubbed his back.

Clint had consumed enough alcohol himself that he didn’t bother to censor himself as he said, “We’re all fucking. I’m pretty sure at this point, we’re basically in a threesome permanently. What’s it to you?”

Tony shrugged – and somehow that led to his foot slipping on the ice. The next thing Clint knew, the two of them were on the ground, completely tangled together. Clint cursed and took a moment to take inventory of his body – thankfully nothing previously or recently broken seemed damaged – before propping himself up on his elbow and somehow ending up face-to-face with Tony.

“You okay?” he asked, trying to control his frustration over this entire situation.

Tony’s response to that question came in the form of his lips pressing against Clint’s. Clint was shocked enough by the gesture that it took him a few moments to pull away. This entire evening had been vaguely surreal but getting kissed by the CEO of Stark Enterprises was probably the icing on top of the cake. He couldn’t imagine that things would get any weirder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stark, you’re shitfaced,” he grumbled, disentangling himself and scrambling to his feet.

He caught a fleeting look on Tony’s face, one that threw him a bit. For an instant, just an instant, Tony looked sad and if Clint was reading his emotions correctly, also lonely. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave Tony on the ground, he offered him his hand and helped him upright, steadying him when he stumbled and staggered. 

Thankfully the chauffeur had the door open, which meant that Clint managed to get Tony into the limo without any further incidents of falling or kissing. 

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Hey, man. Happy Thanksgiving. It was good to see you tonight.” 

“It was good to see you too,” Tony said. “Hey, uh, give my thanks to Nat for inviting me. It… it meant a lot.” 

“I will,” Clint promised. “Drink a fuckton of water, Stark. Otherwise you’re going to be miserably hungover tomorrow.”

Tony chuckled at that. “Will do. Goodnight, Barton.”

Clint waited until the limo had pulled away before heading back inside. He found that Steve and Bucky had moved to Bucky’s bedroom for the night, armed with a trashcan and several bottles of water. The twins were also in their room, having bolted upstairs the second the meal ended. He couldn’t blame them. The tension in the room had been thick enough to cut with a knife and they were already so skittish. Plus, he had to imagine being faced with Tony, a figure from their past, probably hadn’t been helping matters. He considered checking up on them, just to make sure they were okay – or, if not okay, functioning and coping – but he figured they probably wanted their space.

He found Sam and Natasha cleaning up the dining room and kitchen and immediately joined them; covering up dishes and storing them in the fridge, filling the dishwasher, and drying the dishes that couldn’t be placed in the dishwasher after Sam washed them, before handing them off to Natasha to be put away. Between the three of them, everything was soon cleared and cleaned. 

Natasha poured herself a glass of straight vodka before flinging herself on the couch with a sigh. Sam and Clint exchanged a look before each following suit, both with the vodka and the couch, with Sam settling himself at one end of the couch, back pressed against the arm, so that Natasha could curl up against his chest, while Clint took the other end and allowed himself to be Natasha’s footstool. As Sam gently combed his fingers through Natasha’s hair – to which she nuzzled his neck appreciatively – Clint slipped off her shoes and began to gently massage her feet. 

“Was that a complete disaster or did I just imagine that?” Natasha murmured. 

“It wasn’t a complete disaster,” Sam said. “It had its unfortunate moments but the food was awesome and before Tony showed up, things were going pretty well.”

“He kissed me,” Clint blurted out. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d told them that. In part, he didn’t want that to somehow come out at another time and have his partners get mad at him for hiding it, although he figured they’d probably understand. On the other hand, he also didn’t want Natasha to keep ruminating about the dinner and worrying about Bucky and Steve and everything else.

Unfortunately, Sam had just taken a sip of his vodka at the time Clint made that statement and most of the vodka ended up getting spat out – thankfully not on Natasha or Clint, since at least Sam had the presence of mind to turn his head. 

Natasha, for her part, just looked vaguely amused. “When you were walking him to his car?”

Clint nodded. 

Sam, who’d managed to compose himself, smirked and asked, “He a good kisser at the least?”

“He was slobbering drunk,” Clint pointed out. “I don’t think I can properly assess his technique.” 

“Wonderful,” Natasha said. “He made the entire atmosphere awkward, drove Bucky to drink, and kissed my boyfriend. Remind me not to invite him again.”

“Nah, don’t be like that, Nat,” Clint said, and before he could consider what he was saying, he added, “I think he’s really lonely. I know he’s a jerk and an asshole and all of that but being invited tonight meant a lot to him. He asked me to thank you when he left.”

“Be that as it may…” Natasha started, being cutting herself off and sighing. “Enough about him.” A slow smirk curved her lips as she shifted into a sitting position. “I have my two boys here with me and I’d like to enjoy my time with you.” 

As Natasha’s lips covered his own, only to be replaced by Sam’s a few moments later, Clint had to admit that he very much preferred kissing them to kissing Tony Stark.


	25. Don't It Feel Right Like This, All The Pieces Fall To His Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are repercussions for the events of Friendsgiving, questions are answered, and Tony makes a mess of his life. Additionally, Natasha, Thor, and Jane set a plan into action with Clint's help and Bucky and Clint have the opportunity to meet their respective significant other's parental unit over the Thanksgiving holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter! We're rapidly working on our way to the end of this fic (3-4 chapters to go) before moving into the sequel, which I already have a ton planned for.
> 
> As noted on my Tumblr, I'm going to be traveling for the next 10 days, so I can't guarantee right now how much writing I'll get done during that time. As a result, the next chapter will likely be coming in about 2 weeks. However, I hope the fact that this chapter was 22 pages helps with that. :)

Waking up post-Friendsgiving was up there in the list of worst mornings Bucky had experienced. Even before he completely woke up and oriented himself, he was aware of his head pounding and the waves of nausea hitting him, leaving him with no doubt that he was headed for an unpleasant day. Apparently the two bottles of water he’d managed to choke down – and keep down - hadn’t been enough to stave off the hangover from hell.

He rolled onto his side with a groan. Not only had he made an ass out of himself the night before – and for what reason, really? Because Steve might have possibly had a relationship with someone else? – now he was paying the price this morning. At the least, he was reasonably certain he hadn’t done anything stupid like deck Tony Stark in the face or say anything he might later regret; although if he had, he wasn’t 100% certain he would have remembered it. That had been a fairly substantial chunk of alcohol to consume and his tolerance wasn’t what it used to be, since he’d been fairly limited in his drinking since the incident with Rumlow. After all, drinking on painkillers and with a head injury wasn’t exactly conducive to healing. 

“Hey, Buck, how’re you feeling?” 

Bucky groaned again as he registered Steve’s voice. 

Despite the fact that Steve had taken care of him on a consistent basis and already seen him throw up more times than he could count on both hands, this was the first time Steve had had to take care of him because he’d been a complete dumb-fuck. Granted, the argument could be potentially made that he’d been a fuck-up when he assaulted Rumlow – and, truth be told, he had been – but somehow needing to have Steve hold his hair back because he’d had too much to drink was much more humiliating than Steve having to do the same because of one of his migraines.

“I’ve felt better,” he said after a moment, when he realized he had to say something. “Guess I shouldn’t have had that third or fourth or fifth glass of wine.” 

“Wine hangovers at the worst,” Steve said sympathetically. “I don’t know if you’re ready to try it out, but Natasha stopped by about twenty minutes ago with some hangover food. She says she’s given it to you before and it’s helped. Think you’re up for it?” 

Bucky cracked his eyes open, grateful for the blackout curtains that prevented the light from hitting his eyes and making his headache completely explode. He then carefully and slowly pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position and, aside from a slight increase in nausea, nothing particularly horrible happened.

Given that he survived that, he replied, “I’ll try.”

Having Steve step out of the room gave Bucky the chance to try to compose himself and take inventory of the entire situation. On the plus side, Steve didn’t seem upset with him, so maybe he hadn’t made quite as much of a mess of his life as he felt like he had. Still, he had no doubt that the questions were coming. Steve would want to know what had set Bucky off that badly and Bucky would have to be honest with him. After all, they’d been talking about communication. He knew that if he told Dr. Jones he wasn’t being open and honest with Steve, he’d be facing non-stop challenges about the barriers that were preventing him from talking to Steve. 

Thankfully, he was able to put that off until Steve returned with a breakfast burrito and slushie and rather than talk, he was able to focus on seeing how much of each he could put into his body without vomiting his guts out. A few sips of the slushie and his head felt a little less like it was about to explode, and despite the fact that the initial bite of the breakfast burrito made his stomach threaten to rebel, after a few more bites he felt less nauseous and more hungry. By the time he’d finished the majority of both, he actually believed he might not be bedridden all day and might be able to be at least a semi-functioning human being.

Steve watched him intently, apparently wary about Bucky’s ability to handle the food, and was kind enough to wait until Bucky had finished to ask, “So, do you want to tell me what all of that was about last night?” 

Despite the fact that Bucky knew the question was coming, he felt bile start to rise in throat and swallowed hard, more sickened by the question than he’d been by his attempt to eat and drink. He was spared answering for a few more moments, as he sucked down the dredges of his slushie and the final bite or two of the burrito. 

“I don’t know,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Shit, that’s a lie. I’m sorry, Steve. I know what set me off, I just don’t know what got into me last night. I was being a jackass.”

“That’s not really an answer,” Steve pointed out, his tone gentle, gentler than Bucky thought he deserved, just as he didn’t deserve the fact that Steve didn’t look angry, just concerned.

“Did you and Tony used to have a relationship?” Bucky asked, his verbal filter apparently leaving him completely and making him wish he could have somehow swallowed those words and prevented them from ever being said. 

Steve jerked back in response to the question, his cheeks filling with color, and it occurred to Bucky that this was probably the first time he’d seen Steve quite this angry with him. Before Bucky could try to talk over his mistake and start apologizing and find someway to make that question disappear, Steve spoke.

“I’m not entirely sure what that has to do with anything or why that would have led you to drink but, yes, I guess you could call it that, even though he wouldn’t. Why?” 

Bucky shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I guess I could tell that there’d been something between the two of you because of how you interacted and for some reason that really fucked with my head and I don’t know why. I wish I did. I wish I knew why certain thoughts come into my head and then worm their way in and won’t go away and rip through my brain and make me a crazy person.” 

“You’re not a crazy person,” Steve said, his voice softening the slightest bit. “I’m sorry, for the way I responded. Honestly, I wasn’t as angry with you as I am at Stark and I guess that didn’t come through well. Whatever we had, it was a while ago, after Tony had gotten me set up in the shop, and it didn’t last long. It ended badly, as you can tell, and it’s put a hell of a strain on Shield.” Steve studied Bucky for several moments. “You don’t have to feel jealous, Buck, if that’s what this is about. There are no feelings left there except for animosity.” 

Although Bucky would have sworn that he hadn’t needed that reassurance, there was a part of him that felt better after hearing Steve say that. He couldn’t figure out why Tony made him feel so insecure – aside from the fact that he was a fully functional person without a metal arm and an IQ off the charts – when it was evident that Steve despised him. Not to mention that from what Bucky could remember from the previous evening, he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten completely shitfaced. Tony was definitely guilty of that as well.

“Thanks, Steve. I’m sorry for the way I acted, too. That wasn’t fair to you. I honestly don’t know what came over me.” 

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand and squeezed gently. “Apology accepted. It’s not as though you did anything awful. I just wish you’d drank a little bit less.”

“You and me both,” Bucky admitted. “Once I was already drunk, it just made sense to keep drinking.”

“Think you’ll be up for heading back to Shield or would you rather just stay here and rest?” Steve asked; his brow furrowed with concern.

Bucky readily and easily scanned his body, noticing that he still had a bit of a headache, although for the moment it was mostly manageable, and as far as he could tell, the nausea was entirely gone. As a result, he couldn’t come up with a reason for not returning to Shield if he was capable of moving.

“I think I can handle walking back,” he said. “The fresh air would probably help clear my head. I should probably see if I’m capable of taking a shower first though and go from there.”

“As long as we get your hair dry before walking back,” Steve said with a grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, mom” before fixing Steve with an answering grin of his own. “You could always join me.” 

Steve’s eyes widened the slightest bit. “Won’t Natasha mind?” 

Bucky laughed. “For as many times as I’ve heard her with Sam and Clint, I think she can make an exception to us.” 

He carefully scrambled to his feet, staggering only a little, and was halfway to the door when he realized Steve was still sitting on the bed. He took the opportunity to tug off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor, and felt a surge of pride when the look in Steve’s eyes turned hungry and possessive. Months ago, he was ashamed for anyone to see his arm, let alone to see him without a shirt on, and now he could disrobe quite easily in front of his boyfriend and not immediately have a head filled with cognitive distortions about his appearance. 

He raised an eyebrow and inquired, “You coming?” 

Steve followed after him.

-~-

Sometimes Tony forgot to stop drinking. It wasn’t something that he meant to do; it was just one of those things that happened. The past few days – at least he thought it was days - since he woke up somewhere between drunk and hungover post-Friendsgiving had been nothing but an alcohol induced blur. This particular morning, he’d woken up and immediately popped open a beer, either to stave off withdrawal or maintain the buzz – he really wasn’t entirely sure which at this point - and ordered JARVIS to keep the music on low as he tried to focus enough to get some work done, maybe even review those proposals Pepper left for him to give her one less think for her to complain about.

He’d only gotten as far as cracking open one of the proposal files when JARVIS informed him, “Miss Potts is on her way.”

Well, that could mean nothing good. There was a reason that it was especially not good, a reason that suggested to him that he shouldn’t have been expected her arrival, but he couldn’t quite remember why. He tried to mentally review the past few days to see what he might have done this time but everything was a blacked out blur. He took another long sip of his beer before Pepper entered the room and, damn, in the past several years he’d employed her, he’d never seen her look that furious. He must have fucked up significantly more than usual.

“What the hell, Tony?” she questioned, arms crossed over her chest. “You just had to wait until I flew home to see my family – for the first time in almost a year, I might add - to destroy your entire life and your father’s company?” When he gave her an uncomprehending look, she exhaled angrily. “Seriously, Tony? What were you thinking? Even you know better than to go to company meetings drunk.”

Tony tried to recall when and where he’d precisely done that but nothing was coming back to him yet. Still, he doubted Pepper was wrong. It wasn’t as though he could properly remember anything from the past several days. 

Instead of responding, he buried his head in his hands.

“Tony, you can’t get out of this that easily,” Pepper said and her voice was so filled with anger that Tony was almost impressed with himself for not flinching. “I need an answer. You owe me an answer.” 

“What’s the point in giving you an answer? It’s not going to change what’s already happened.”

Pepper exhaled raggedly. “Tony, I’m not going to lie: I’m utterly furious with you. But I’m also worried because this is above and beyond your usual level of screwing up. What happened?”

For a moment, Tony considered lying and insisting that nothing had happened and that he’d just been his usual reckless self because that would lead to less questions, even if that would also probably cause Pepper’s resignation and a complete lack of forgiveness.

Before he could mentally review what he was about to say, he blurted out, “I’m sorry, Pepper. I know I fucked up and it all started when Rogers invited me to Natasha’s over the weekend.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Steve, huh? That’s interesting.” 

“Don’t think he did that out of the kindness of his heart,” Tony muttered. “He wants me to keep his boyfriend from losing his piercing license.”

“Why is his boyfriend about to lose his piercing license?” Pepper asked with a frown that clearly said to Tony that she was fully aware they were going off topic.

“Because of the assault from a few weeks back. Someone lodged a complaint. Apparently Steve thinks I’m willing to get my hands dirty.”

“Did he say that?” Pepper inquired.

“He implied the hell out of it and more or less said it directly,” Tony said bitterly. “So he invited me to the party in the hopes of convincing me to help and everything went to shit shortly after I arrived.”

“What did you do?” Pepper asked.

Tony tried not to be resentful and angry that Pepper was blaming him for that entire fiasco.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Pep,” he muttered. “I didn’t do anything except ask questions about Steve’s new boyfriend and Steve got pissed and things spiraled out of control from there.” 

“You never apologized to him, did you?” Pepper asked with a sigh. “I figured as much. No wonder he got angry about you interrogating his boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t interrogating him, I was trying to get to know him,” Tony argued.

“Still,” Pepper pointed out. “After what happened with you and Steve – which I still maintain you’re lucky didn’t turn into a sexual harassment lawsuit because it easily could have – I’m sure Steve appreciated a ton of questions about his new boyfriend. So, that was enough to push you over the edge, Stark? I didn’t think you broke that easily.”

Tony shrugged. “I started drinking before the party, I kept drinking during it, and I didn’t stop once the party was over. Oh, and I kissed Clint.”

“You did _what_?” Pepper asked furiously. “Seriously, Tony? You kissed another one of your employees after what happened with Steve? Never mind. Don’t answer that. Let me also not mention that Clint is dating Natasha who very easily could destroy your entire life.” 

“Yeah, well, obviously I wasn’t thinking about any of that at the time.”

“Obviously you weren’t thinking at all,” Pepper said darkly. “So, what happened after this weekend? Specifically, what happened with your Monday meetings?”

Tony shrugged. “I forgot to stop drinking and I guess I thought I was capable of handling my meetings.”

“Which I suppose explains why you didn’t just call me and ask me to cancel your meetings because you were under the weather,” she said with a sigh. “Lovely. Well, I’ve been doing damage control since last night; plenty of gift baskets and other attempts at making amends. Hopefully that’ll be enough to fix the damage you caused. I’ve also cancelled the rest of your meetings for the week but that goes without saying.”

Tony was quiet for a long moment because he had no doubt that if he did speak, he would say something that he might later regret, not that he hadn’t done enough things that he would regret at this point already. Instead, he just pillowed his head on his arms as his light buzz shifted closer to hangover, and his stomach lurched painfully. 

A few moments later, he felt Pepper’s fingers comb through his hair. This time he forced himself to speak. “I’ll arrange for a flight back for you this evening. Where do you live again?”

“My family lives in Michigan,” Pepper said, and this time her voice was patient. “Are you going to be able to keep from self-destructing? I still want a job when I come back next weekend.” 

“I can take care of myself,” he said, albeit somewhat reluctantly because he knew that would mean a significant decrease in drinking over the next few days since otherwise all bets were off. “Look, Pepper, I’m sorry for this entire mess.”

“I know you are,” she said gently. “Don’t do it again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are still reparations that need to be made before I fly out tonight. Think you can manage to sober up and let me know if I need to get you admitted to an inpatient unit to prevent withdrawal and seizures?”

“I can do that,” Tony assured her, although he sighed when she picked up his half-finished beer and took it with her as she stepped out of the lab.

Things seemed a lot less manageable without Pepper there by his side.

-~-

Clint kept an eye on Bucky in the days that followed Natasha’s Friendsgiving extravaganza. She’d asked him to do it and he didn’t mind; after all, he spent every day at Shield where he could monitor Bucky’s mental, emotional, and physical state, and he could typically manage to do it discreetly. From everything he could tell, aside from battling the remnants of a hangover that first day afterwards, Bucky seemed perfectly fine. He helped out Clint and Darcy as much as he could with administrative and organizational tasks. 

He also had been quite helpful in providing Clint information about Natasha’s father, who Clint would be meeting for the first time on Thanksgiving. He was grateful that Natasha hadn’t asked him any extensive questions about why he wasn’t heading home to visit his own family, she’d merely invited him to celebrate at her house. However, after the bits of information both Natasha and Bucky had dropped about her father, he felt that there needed to be some preparation.

Bucky had made it clear that clothing was a big deal - that Clint needed to be dressed appropriately for a meal with a high-ranking government official; jeans and t-shirts were obviously not acceptable – and he’d made certain that Clint had clothing that met the appropriate qualifications. He’d explained to Clint that the use of the first name of Natasha’s father was not appropriate, even if others were to use it, for Clint’s first meeting but that the use of Mr. followed by the last name or “Sir” were appropriate. He’d reminded Clint that staring at the eye patch was only going to invoke Natasha’s father’s wrath and cautioned against that, as well as making any comments about the missing eye. 

All in all, Clint felt as prepared as he was pretty sure he’d ever feel. Despite Natasha’s comments about how wonderful her father was, Clint felt a little skeptical and wary based on Bucky’s descriptions of Natasha’s father as this terrifying figure. After all, Natasha always swore that Kisa had been the sweetest kitten ever – and had the pictures to prove it – but Bucky’s stories painted a very different picture and he’d shared his own pictures of Kisa that showed a much less friendly and much more homicidal and murderous looking cat than the one he’d seen from Natasha. It stood to reason, as a result, that there might be something similar going on with her father, in that Natasha’s view was a little bit skewed. 

Despite his anxiety about Thanksgiving dinner, Clint was feeling pretty good by the time Wednesday rolled around, given that there were no classes. He’d spent the last few weeks scrambling to make up the coursework he’d missed when he’d last gotten his ass kicked, including a few extra credit assignments due to the amount of classes he’d been absent for this semester, and he’d just gotten himself back on track before the Thanksgiving holiday. Granted, he was pretty sure he had two papers due the following week, as well as an exam, with the rest of his term papers coming up soon afterwards, but at least he was caught up for the moment. 

As he approached Shield, Lucky trotting at his side, he saw that the sign was back up, repainted, and thankfully hadn’t been defaced again since the incident a few weeks back. With the shield back in place, the shop was looking more like itself, except for the fact that he found something rather surprising when he reached the door. Despite the fact that when he’d locked up the previous evening, the door had been unadorned, there was now a wreath hanging on it.

He furrowed his brow, surprised that Steve would have been decorating that late into the night, and went to unlock the door, only to find it already unlocked. All the more surprised that someone had beat him into work – either Darcy had shown up before her shift officially started or Steve or Bucky had woken up early – he opened the door and stepped inside to find himself in the middle of a winter wonderland.

Okay, that was probably an exaggeration. The jewelry cabinets were draped in garlands, there were cutout snowflakes taped to the inside of the windows, and someone had even tucked a small Charlie Brown Christmas tree into the corner, near the couch, and adorned it with ornaments and lights. He unhooked the leash from Lucky’s collar and she immediately bounded over to examine the Christmas tree. He hoped she wouldn’t attempt to eat any of the ornaments because the last thing he needed was a trip to the vet over the holidays. That, or consider the tree as a suitable place for marking her territory because that would just be a disaster for the shop. Thankfully, Lucky did neither.

He found the culprit of the decorating a few moments later, when he noticed that there was a ladder set up in the doorway heading to the back offices and a familiar figure perched on it, a Santa hat on her head. Clint approached her warily, particularly when he caught sight of what she was hanging up. 

“Darcy, is that mistletoe?” he inquired

He slipped through the doorway quickly, squeezing past the ladder she stood on before she could dare attempt to kiss him, despite the fact that any attempt to do that would have been physically impossible or likely led to injury for both of them. 

She looked delighted. “Of course it is. I consider mistletoe a great way to keep everyone on their toes. It turns the shop into an obstacle course.”

“Does that mean you have more mistletoe to go in other doorways?” he asked, a bit afraid of the answers.

Darcy’s smile widened. “It wouldn’t be fun if it were only in one doorway.”

He offered her a hand as she hoped down from the ladder and she rewarded him by sifting through the bag at her feet and pulling out a Santa hat clearly meant for him given that his name was embroidered on the front. There was no point in protesting as Darcy placed it on his head and as a thanks, he helped her put up the remainder of the mistletoe in the office doorways. 

“I’m not kissing my clients,” he said, hopefully unnecessarily, as he folded up the ladder and tucked it into the closet. 

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to do that,” she said sweetly.

She headed over to where Lucky was eating her second breakfast and pulled out a green and red collar with bells from her bag of tricks, which she fastened around Lucky’s neck in replacement of her usual collar. Lucky seemed a bit confused by the bells, at first, but then resumed eating as though nothing had changed. Clint tried not to think too hard about how difficult it would be to sleep with the constant ringing of the bells because Lucky was nothing if not a restless sleeper. 

Clint, meanwhile, went for the thankfully already brewed pot of coffee, only to discover that it was apparently holiday flavored and that he had a choice of multiple holiday flavored creamers to spice it up with. Given that it was strong and finely brewed, he could have cared less about what exactly he was putting into his mouth as long as it meant that he would be feeling more awake in the next few minutes. 

As he sipped – or, more appropriately, gulped down – his first cup of coffee, he heard footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, Bucky and Steve came into view. Naturally, they made it right to the doorway when Darcy brought it to their attention that there was mistletoe over their head. The two looked mostly amused and obligingly kissed before stepping into the lobby and gazing around at the decorations. 

“Someone’s been busy,” Steve commented.

“I hope it’s okay, boss,” Darcy said, looking the slightest bit nervous. “I just figured it’s officially the holiday season now and it would be nice to make the shop a bit more festive.” 

Steve kept his expression tightly controlled as he examined each and every decoration before grinning. “It looks great, Darce. Great work.” 

She beamed in response and reached into her bag, unsurprisingly coming up with a personalized Santa hat for both Steve and Bucky. Each of them accepted the offer and obligingly tugged them onto their heads. 

As Bucky tugged on his, Steve said, “We could also make you a little more festive, Buck. Maybe add some red and green into your hair.” 

Bucky made a face. “I’ll take the red. Not so sure I’m up for both red and green.” 

Darcy’s face lit up and she eagerly said, “I can grab some hair dye on my lunch break.” 

Bucky warily looked at Steve. “How would your mom feel about that?” 

In response to his look of concern, Steve laughed. “She’d be fine with it, Buck. She’s not old-fashioned. She has a son who works in a tattoo shop. I think she can handle dyed hair.” He looked thoughtful and added, “In fact, you could totally pierce my eyebrow before dinner tomorrow night. We have time for that, right?”

Bucky all but choked in response to that question and Clint couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Bucky stammer, “I, uh, I’m not so sure about that. How am I going to meet your mom’s eyes after maiming her son?” 

“If you think piercing someone is maiming them, you might be in the wrong business, Barnes,” Clint said. 

“I don’t, I mean… I just…” Bucky stammered over his words. “Christ, guys, it’s my first time meeting Steve’s mom and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“What sort of horror stories have you been telling Bucky about your mom, Steve?” Darcy asked, looking scandalized. “Why is he so scared her? Your mom is the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” 

“I haven’t told him anything about her being scary,” Steve said quickly. “I’m not Bucky with Clint, trying to terrify Bucky before meeting my mom the way Bucky’s terrifying Clint before meeting Nat’s dad. My mom’s nothing to worry about, Buck, just like I’ve told you before. She’s going to love you.”

Bucky looked severely unconvinced but thankfully that conversation was derailed by the door opening and Clint’s 9:30 o’clock appointment walking in. He let Darcy handle the paperwork and payment – hurrying back to his office to make certain everything was in order and prepared in the meantime – and then came back to review the paperwork and bring the client, a cheerful looking freshman looking to get a series of butterflies from the back of her neck to her right shoulder blade, back to get the work done. He left Bucky and Steve to help Darcy finish decorating the shop and tried not to think too far ahead to his fast approaching Thanksgiving meal with Natasha and her father.

Particularly given that he had something more pressing to worry about this evening. A mission that he was hoping would go according to plan. Otherwise, Natasha would be very, very angry with him.

-~-

Having the opening shift on one of her days off from grad school life wasn’t exactly Jane’s favorite thing to do. If she’d had things her way, she would have gotten to sleep in and recover all of the sleep lost over the past week due to dissertation deadlines, a metric fuckton of grading for the class she taught, more hours spent in the lab that she could even count, plus the additional work for the rest of the classes she was taking.

Then again, she’d woken up curled against Thor’s side that morning, him having spent the night at her small studio apartment, and he’d insisted on making her coffee while she showered and prepared for work, despite the fact that he could have slept in himself since he didn’t have an obligation to work. Only due to her insistence had he reluctantly agreed to stay and sleep for a few more hours before meeting her when she got off early at noon.

She’d been watching the clock and counting down the hours when she had the chance, which wasn’t often. Given that there were no classes, many more students than usual had come into the coffee shop that morning – surprising, really, given that very few of them likely had early morning plans – and the moments of downtime had been few and far between. That was a shame, as far as she was concerned, seeing as she needed to think ahead to the night’s plan. Mental preparation and rehearsal was her default when she was dealing with a task she didn’t feel 110% prepared for and this was definitely not a task that she felt prepared for. Not when there were so many things that could go wrong.

True to his word, Thor showed up half an hour before her shift ended and made a point of coming up to the counter to order lunch and coffee for both of them. By that time, the midday crowd was filling in, with a line almost out the door, and despite the fact that her shift was almost over, Jane didn’t have the time to focus on anything other than making coffees and preparing sandwiches. 

Having been on autopilot for most of the morning, she was grateful – if startled - when her co-worker arrived, effectively relieving her from duty for the day and, as she realized, the next two days since she’d thankfully avoided being scheduled on Black Friday even though she was scheduled on both Saturday and Sunday. She willingly relinquished the cash register to him, although she stayed to help on a few of the last drinks and sandwiches she’d rung up, before joining Thor at the table. 

He greeted her with a kiss. “How are you, Jane?” 

“Hungry,” she acknowledged, reaching for her sandwich and taking a bite. “How has your day been?” 

“It’s been good,” he said, although his expression reflected concern.

She studied him for a moment. “You’re worried about tonight, aren’t you?” 

“It is a difficult situation,” he said softly. “I have faith in our plan but the thought of pulling this sort of charade on my own brother… I suppose it’s still a bit hard for me to fully stomach.” 

“One way or another, we’ll have our answers soon,” Jane pointed out. “Maybe this will clear your brother’s name. Maybe we’ll find out we’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” Thor agreed, though his face showed only worry. “I truly hope that is the outcome.” 

-~-

By the time Clint arrived from work, Natasha was pacing from the living room to the front door and then back again, Koschei trotting at her heels like a small puppy while the twins watched her become progressively more anxious as the night went on – and that just wasn’t acceptable because she never let anyone see her in this type of state. She’d dressed carefully for the occasion, putting on a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places and carefully adorned herself with the jewelry and make-up that would create the persona she was going for. After all, the act was the most important part of tonight.

She checked her watch again, as well as her phone, to see if Clint was late and to make certain that Thor had followed through on bringing his brother to the bar that night. By her estimations, Clint had five minutes still – which hopefully meant that he hadn’t been attacked or mugged or run into the Russian mob this evening - and the last text message from Thor indicated that he, Jane, and Loki were on their way. Assuming everything went according to plan – something she probably shouldn’t hope for given recent events in her life which proved that Murphy’s law was always in full effect – they would arrive and be settled right around the time she and Clint entered the bar. 

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep doing that,” Pietro said, as she walked into the living room once more.

She fixed him with a dark look. 

“Thank you for the input, Pietro. Will the two of you be alright when Clint arrives and we head out for the evening?” 

“We’ve got food and movies,” Wanda said. “We’ll be fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Natasha promised. “Just eager to head out and hoping Clint hasn’t found himself in trouble again.”

Before the twins could respond to that, the front door opened and Natasha hurried into the foyer to meet Clint. His eyes widened when he took her outfit in – and she allowed herself the slightest bit of pleasure to have that kind of effect on him still, after all of their history together – and pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“We have to go now,” she said, before Clint could even say hello and offer a customary greeting.

“Should I change to look a bit more presentable?” he asked, gesturing towards his jeans and t-shirt.

She shook her head. “No, I think that will just add to the atmosphere, don’t you?” 

His brow furrowed as he considered that and then a smirk curved his lips. “Yeah, I think that’ll work quite well.”

“Are you ready?” she asked with a sly smile.

He took the opportunity to lean down and kiss her once more. “Ready when you are.”

-~-

The last place Loki wanted to be that evening was at the local bar with Thor and his girlfriend. Over the weeks, he’d done his best to maintain a healthy distance when the two of them were together and attempted to involve him in any sort of activity. Tonight, though, Thor had not been willing to take no for an answer. Perhaps he and Jane were having some sort of tension in their relationship and Thor wanted Loki there to balance the situation. To be honest, that had been the only hypothesis that fit the situation and at this time, there was quite a bit of tension between Thor and Jane, with a limited amount of talking between the two of them. 

Naturally though, Thor and Jane’s relationship drama was being overshadowed by the actual drama occurring inside the bar. Loki had seen Natasha walk in several minutes before, dressed to the nines, clearly on a date despite the fact that she was alone. He was surprised – typically when she arrived at the bar, she was accompanied by either Clint or Sam or, if not either or both of them, by Bucky – until he noticed that she was almost obsessively checking her phone and glancing at her watch, a foot tapping impatiently against the barstool she was sitting on. 

Then Clint had strode into the bar, as though nothing were wrong, and all hell had broken loose, as far as Loki was concerned. The moment Natasha had seen him entire the room, she was on her feet, covering the distance between them in a matter of strides, and looking utterly and completely furious. They weren’t quite close enough for Loki to make out their words, but based on their body language, Clint was trying to explain or apologize to Natasha and Natasha was not having any of it, to the point where she dragged Clint outside to continue their argument with a bit more privacy. 

Intrigued by the situation, Loki kept an eye on the window, where he could still see the two of them facing one another; Natasha very emphatically expressing displeasure, while Clint initially seemed intent on trying to defuse the situation, before seeming to become angry himself.

Loki had no idea what Clint must have said to provoke the response, but Natasha abruptly slapped him across the face and then stormed away, coming back inside and reclaiming her previous seat at the bar. Clint, for his part, stood there, looking stunned, before slowly walking away.

“Maybe I should check on her, see if she’s okay,” Jane said softly.

Loki registered for the first time that both Thor and Jane must have been focused on the altercation as well.

“Let me,” he said smoothly, rising to his feet. “The two of you should enjoy your date. I’ll make certain she’s alright.”

Thor and Jane exchanged a look – and Loki felt his anger rise as he noted how skeptical Jane looked – but neither one protested as Loki walked away and took the barstool beside Natasha. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her body language radiating suspicion, and then the tension was diffused as the bartender placed her drink – a vodka tonic – in front of her and she took a long sip.

Loki took the opportunity to order a drink of his own, sticking to a beer for the time being, and waited until he saw some of the tension leave Natasha’s body to turn to her and speak.

“I couldn’t help noticing what happened,” he said, hoping his tone was as sympathetic as he was trying to convey. “I just wanted to make certain that you were alright.”

“Alright?” she echoed, with a bit of a laugh. “How could I be alright after dealing with that man? I tell you, I do everything for him, and he can’t even arrive to a date on time. I told him that this was the last time I tolerated him missing one of our dates or showing up hours later when he showed up at all.”

“A woman like you does not deserve a man treating her that way,” Loki said with a shake of his head. “You deserve a man who will come on time to dates, armed with flowers and chocolates.” From what he’d seen with Thor and Jane, those were things that women appeared to like.

“Flowers and chocolates weren’t even a remote possibility,” she said with a sigh. “Showing me any attention at all was the most I could ask for. I don’t know why I dated him for as long as I did. It was a mistake. He was a mistake.” 

Loki considered the position that he was in. Here was a woman – a fine, fine looking woman – who was most likely already on the rebound. The fact that she was already opening up to him was a good sign; he could definitely use that and move forward.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty in his anger regarding Thor and Jane’s relationship. After all, Jane was not the only woman in the DC area and as far as he was concerned, Natasha might just be the better choice. 

He fixed Natasha with his best smile. “May I have the honor of paying for your next drink?”

She lowered her gaze the slightest bit but answered his smile with a flirtatious one of her own. “I thought you’d never ask…”

-~-

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?” Bucky asked for the fourth time as they approached Steve’s mother’s house. 

He tugged on the sleeves of the suit jacket that he was wearing despite Steve’s adamant statements that Bucky did not have to dress up quite that much for a simple Thanksgiving dinner. Steve, for his part, was dressed similarly to the first time Bucky had ever seen him, clad in a pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, and suspenders; or, at the least, that was the clothing hidden under the jackets and layers and everything else that Steve was wearing so that he didn’t catch another cold as they walked to and from the metro stops to his mother’s house. 

“You’re fine, Buck,” Steve said patiently. “You look like your usual charming self taken to the next level, with added finesse.”

Bucky chanced a glance in the nearest shop window and was somewhat reassured by what he saw. His suit was clean and well-pressed and his hair, which had admittedly been getting far too long, was held back by a green ribbon that Natasha had insisted he wore when she caught sight of the red streaks in his hair that he’d finally relented to let Darcy put in the previous evening. Comforted a bit by that, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, and would have felt perfectly calm and collected had Steve not informed him that they had arrived.

Immediately Bucky’s sense of calm shattered and he fought the urge to turn on his heel and run. Instead of giving into the fear, he reminded himself how far he’d come and how much more capable he was at handling these types of situations even when he was afraid. He also forced himself to keep in mind how excited Steve was for Bucky to meet his mom and how much this Thanksgiving dinner meant to Steve.

Steve, for his part, practically bounded up the steps to the front door, although he did glance behind to make sure Bucky was following before he pressed the doorbell. By the time Bucky made it the way up the front stairs, the door opened and he was faced with his first meeting with Steve’s mother.

His initial impression was that she was smaller than he would have expected, which was strange since he should have anticipated that she was tiny given how small Steve was himself, and she seemed almost as frail as her son. Then again, he remembered that Steve had mentioned more than once that she was sick, though he’d never mentioned which illness she was suffering. Still, she greeted Steve with a smile and a hug and then immediately turned to Bucky and gave him an appraising look that made him wish he’d looked himself over one more time in the reflection of the shop.

“You must be Bucky,” she said. Then her smile returned and he immediately relaxed.

“You can call me James, ma’am,” he said quickly, feeling a bit awkward at having his boyfriend’s mother call him by his nickname. 

“If that makes you more comfortable. And please, call me Sarah,” she said kindly before stepping back. “Come inside before you both catch your death of cold, especially you, Steve.” 

Steve rolled his eyes but obediently came inside with a muttered, “Yes, mom” while Bucky followed behind.

The house was small but comfortable, each decoration carefully chosen and the paint on the walls a calming, soothing shade of blue. The longer he was inside, the easier his breathing came and the more relaxed he felt. He could already smell the food cooking and something about that was comforting – for as many times as he’d cooked at the townhouse or Steve’s apartment, those places lacked the same sense he got when he cooked at home with his family – because this place felt like home. Not that being with Steve or Natasha didn’t feel like home; it just felt like home in a different sense that did not include the familiarity of family.

Steve settled the bottles of wine they’d brought on the counter and tugged off his jacket before offering to take Bucky’s suit jacket, which, in retrospect, had probably been a ridiculous thing to wear since they were going to be helping Sarah in the kitchen. As Steve tucked the jackets into the closet, Bucky realized he’d been left alone with Steve’s mom and his anxiety, which had decreased, resurfaced. 

“James?” Sarah said and her voice was gentle, which eased his worry a bit. “I hope you weren’t offended that I kept my distance from you when you and my son arrived. Steve has told me a lot about you and I wanted to make certain I was respecting your boundaries.” 

As always, Bucky’s initial reaction to that was embarrassment but that faded in a matter of moments and shifted more towards gratitude. Steve hadn’t had to prepare his mom – and that wasn’t the best way of spinning the situation, Steve had just made sure his mother knew about Bucky and Bucky’s conditions – and his mother hadn’t had to take that information in and use it as effectively as she had. 

Bucky managed a small smile. “Thank you, ma’am - Sarah. I appreciate that, though I don’t think you need to worry.”

“Worry about what?” Steve asked as he rejoined them.

His mother quickly said, “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

She surveyed Steve and Bucky for a moment before asking, “James, would you be able to work on mashing the potatoes?” and Bucky nodded. She seemed pleased before turning to Steve and asking, “Steve, I’m going to need you to work on the last minute items. Getting the cranberry sauce ready and working with me to check on the food that’s still cooking and baking, plus offering any help to James that he might require.”

“Sounds good, mom,” Steve said cheerfully, as he led Bucky into the kitchen and got him settled with the potatoes and the masher.

As Bucky settled into his task, cognizant of both Steve’s and Sarah’s presence in the room with him, he felt all of his worries and anxieties about the visit fade. Staying in the present moment was easy, with the feeling of the masher in his hand, the smell of the cooking meal, and the Christmas music playing softly in the background. 

If only he’d known a year ago that he would be acclimating to his new life this well. That might have saved him and his family a lot of pain.

-~-

“Natasha, come on,” Clint protested as Natasha stopped him on the stairs up to her father’s house, taking care to straighten out his tie.

He’d already dressed up as much as he could, taking more care with his appearance than he was pretty sure he ever had in his entire life, and despite all of that, Natasha was still fussing. Of course, she looked perfect, without a hair out of place despite the fact that it was a windy evening. He had no idea how girls managed that, although he had a sneaking suspicion it might involve hairspray and other products that he had no knowledge or understanding of.

“You’ll thank me later,” Natasha said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Clint said grimly, as they walked up the last steps to the door.

He felt his heart drop in his chest when Natasha pressed the doorbell but he forced himself to remain stationary, shoulders straight and back, looking as confident as he could manage even as the door opened and revealed easily the most intimidating man Clint had ever seen in his life. Bucky’s warnings hadn’t been nearly enough to prepare him for this.

The first thing he noticed was the uniform. No, that was a suit. No, that was definitely a uniform. He wasn’t certain what to call it, to be honest. He was pretty sure that it was a suit because that was what it looked like but it was pressed and ironed to military specification and precision. He was grateful that the suit grabbed his attention because otherwise he might have accidentally found himself staring at the eye patch, which Bucky had warned him was a big no-no if he ever wanted Natasha’s father to accept him. 

The second thing he noticed was how her father towered over both of them – and Clint wasn’t exactly a small guy, nor was Natasha all that short when she was wearing heels - although Natasha seemed quite unconcerned by that. She crossed the distance between them, and her father greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy Thanksgiving, dad,” she said. “I’d like for you to meet Clint.”

As she turned back towards him, he remembered his manners and took a step forward, extending his hand for Natasha’s father to shake. “Happy Thanksgiving, sir. It’s nice to meet you after hearing all about you from Natasha.”

The look her father gave him was far too appraising for Clint’s taste and made him rethink everything about his appearance, from the piercings still visible in his ears, to the scar tissue from multiple broken noses.

“Clint Barton,” her father said, and his voice was deep and all the more intimidating. “Natasha has told me a considerable amount about you. It’s nice to finally meet the man who is dating my daughter.”

“I have heard a lot about you as well, Director Fury,” Clint said, hoping that using the man’s official title wouldn’t accidentally instigate World War III and still seem respectful, though as he considered his statement, he realized he’d already basically said that. “Shit, I already said that. I mean, uh, thank you for having me over for Thanksgiving.”

Natasha’s father just stared at him as though he were a bug to be squished and said, “Mmhmm” in the most judgmental way Clint had ever heard. Clint was reasonably certain he was going to piss his pants before Natasha’s father’s expression curved into an amused grin. “It’s good to have you here for Thanksgiving, Clint. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable. May I get you something to drink?”

Somehow that made Clint breathe a bit easier. Even if things went horribly from here on out, at least there would be alcohol. Alcohol always fixed everything.

Except, of course, when it didn’t. Hopefully tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights.

-~-

By the time the food was on the table, Bucky was completely at ease. He’d assisted in the meal preparation, as well as carrying the filled bowls as Steve set the table, and at no time had he felt at a loss for words or uncomfortable. Although there had been alcohol offered, he’d declined, still too wary from the incident on Friendsgiving to dare try any. The last thing he needed was to make a fool out of himself because he became intoxicated around Steve’s mother. 

Sarah had been nothing but friendly and accommodating thus far, and Bucky was quickly seeing how many of Steve’s best qualities seemed to stem from her influence on him. Just as Steve had readily and easily made Bucky feel accepted and welcome when he first showed up at Shield, Sarah had done much the same during his time in her house. 

Even once they were all settled and the food had been passed around and Sarah said, “So, James, tell me about yourself” he didn’t feel at a loss for words.

“I grew up in New York,” he said without hesitation. “The rest of my family still lives there. After graduating high school, I enlisted. Got shipped out for two tours, ended the second one early on account of getting injured in the line of duty. That was just about a year ago, give or take a couple of weeks. A little over six months ago, me, my family, and my doctors decided that I might do better if I had a change of scenery. I had a couple of friends living in the DC area – one from my time in the service, the other I’d grown up with – and so it seemed like this would be the best place for me to go, especially with Walter Reed and other VA hospitals close by.”

Steve’s mother offered him a smile and he silently congratulated himself for discussing his history without freezing up or panicking. “I’m sure Steve had already told you this but we used to live in New York as well. Do you get to visit your family often?”

“I haven’t been back since I moved down here,” he admitted. “But I have a trip planned home for Christmas. I’ve gotten better but there are still some things I struggle with, things like crowds, which makes traveling home sometimes more than I can handle.”

“He’s been working really hard though,” Steve chimed in, surprising Bucky. “Since he made the decision to head home for the holidays, he’s gotten some worksheets and books from his doctor and he’ll go through those while I’m working on my homework.” When he caught Bucky looking at him, he flushed the slightest bit. “Sorry. I hope that was okay. I’ve just been really proud of you and I thought you should know.”

“That’s fine,” Bucky said quickly. “Steve’s helped me out a lot too. He’s spent a lot of time and energy learning how to help me when I get triggered and also helping me out with some of my physical difficulties.” 

“That’s interesting, since he says the same about you,” Sarah said, glancing over at her son fondly. “Even though Steve’s done his best to keep me unaware of what’s been going on, I know these past several months haven’t been easy for him. He said you’ve done a lot to help him out.” 

Steve flushed once again and Bucky couldn’t help grinning as he said, “Seems to me we’ve done a decent job balancing taking care of each other then. Steve’s a good guy though. I’ve been more than happy to do it, especially after the chance he gave me.”

This time Steve looked much less endearing as he rolled his eyes. “Buck’s always going on about that. All I did was give him a job.”

“Not a small thing for a veteran trying to get back on his feet,” Bucky pointed out. “Now I’m a productive member of society again.”

His mood sobered up the slightest bit as he remembered that wasn’t exactly the case. If he lost his license, he wasn’t sure what else he would do. Since receiving the letter and recovering from being hungover after Natasha’s party, he’d spoken with Sam about the situation. Sam’s feedback had at least helped him get his head on a bit straighter. Although piercing was the only thing he was technically licensed to do, there were other options. 

Granted, when Bucky considered the possibility of doing something like working in retail, he had no doubt that would not end well. Long hours, infrequent breaks, and constant overstimulation and stressful social interaction weren’t things he could handle at this point, if ever. Those weren’t his only options though. Sam had encouraged him to think outside the box, maybe look into college, and overall just not give up hope.

Those were all valid options, as far as Bucky was concerned, although not ones he was particularly interested in pursuing, especially not if he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Working at Shield and taking college classes would have been one thing but being forced out of the one job and the one place where he’d found happiness was another entirely.

He realized he’d been silent for far too long, though Steve had done his best to cover for him, and he pulled on all of his grounding techniques in order to keep himself in the present moment. He was having too good an evening to let his worries about the future trap him in his head and miss out on yet another experience that he couldn’t get back. 

-~-

Natasha kept a close eye on Clint as they walked out to her car, mindful of her father watching from the doorway. He seemed fully aware of her father’s gaze, given that his shoulders were straightened and he was studiously staring ahead in a way that made her think he was fighting the urge to look over his shoulder back at the figure standing in the doorway.

She waited until they were both settled in the car to tell him, “You did well.” 

He choked out a laugh. “Seriously? That was good? I’d hate to see bad.”

“That was good and you know it, Barton.” She turned on the car, shifted into drive, and pulled out of the driveway. “He liked you. He just doesn’t show those emotions very well. You’ve seen how he is with me.” 

Clint exhaled slowly. “Alright, yeah, it could’ve been worse. I was trying.”

“I know you were. You were on your best behavior and you presented yourself well. You answered all of my father’s questions about school and your future career aspirations and you didn’t mention anything about the Russian mob.” 

“No shit, Nat, I’m not an idiot,” he muttered without anger. “You don’t think I pushed things too far by discussing graduate school?”

“Not at all, although I didn’t know you had those kind of aspirations. Even if you were lying, it came off as genuine, and that’s the important part. Sure, there might have been a few shaky parts or areas that weren’t the best, but the fact that my father wished you a good night and told you that you were welcome at any time is the highest honor you can receive. Trust me when I say that if he didn’t like you, he would have made it clear that you would be dead if you didn’t stop dating me.”

“That’s reassuring,” Clint said with a sigh. “Alright. So I have my foot in the door. That’s something, at the least.” 

“That’s more than something,” Natasha reassured him, leaning over to kiss him as she stopped at a red light. It wasn’t until she pulled back that she asked the question that had been on her mind since she’d discovered Clint had no plans for Thanksgiving and he’d dropped the bombshell about his parents and the lack of contact with his apparently only remaining family member. “Do you need somewhere to go for Christmas this year too?”

There was a long moment of silence before Clint quietly said, “Kinda? I mean, if you’re offering… that’d be great… but otherwise I can figure it out.”

“Well, I already assumed you’d be staying at the townhouse with me,” she said calmly. “You’re definitely welcome to come to the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day festivities. My father and I always attend a Christmas Eve service and then go out for dinner. On Christmas Day, things are a bit more relaxed but tend to involve my father cooking and presents being opened. It’s always been small, just the two of us, and so I don’t see why he would mind having one more join us.”

“Only if you’re sure and it won’t be an inconvenience,” Clint said, and his tone was a bit more morose and bitter than Natasha was used to hearing.

Natasha reached over and held his hand. “You’re never an inconvenience.”

Clint managed a bit of a smile in response to that. “Thanks, Nat. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it, Barton. I’d suggest that we stop by the bar for a drink on the way home but, really, that wouldn’t do, now would it? We wouldn’t want anyone to see us out together.”

“No, not when we’re supposed to be fighting,” he agreed with a smirk. “Plan moving forward as expected?”

“Everything’s a go,” Natasha confirmed. “I’ve got a date with Loki tomorrow night.”


	26. I Heard Your Voice Through A Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the twins have an outing and Darcy flirts with one of them, Natasha implements her plan to take down Loki, Bucky faces one of his fears, multiple characters contemplate tattoos for similar reasons, and Clint finds himself in hotter water than usual.
> 
> (Warning: References to child abuse, which may be more prominently and directly referenced in the next several chapters)

The day did not start out as Darcy expected. 

For starters, she was mostly on her own, which made it pointless for her to even be working in the shop, as far as she was concerned. Clint had called out sick – or, more appropriately, texted out sick – and with him gone and Bucky and Steve broken, there wasn’t exactly anyone to actually do work. Not only that, but Bucky and Steve were out for the time being. Steve had said something about multiple doctors appointments as he disappeared out the door. That limited her social interaction all the more. 

True, Steve had told her to stay in case any customers came in, to schedule them for a consult with him later that day or an appointment with Clint the next day. When she’d pointed out that Steve still wasn’t working, he’d just grinned and given the vague answer of, “For now.” Of course, no clients had wandered into the store yet and she’d already restocked the jewelry cabinets, swept the floor, and examined all of the Christmas decorations she’d put up. 

She was bored. Bored enough that the thought of reading The Odyssey – or was it the Illiad? Either way, she was pretty sure she had a test on the book later that week – was starting to become appealing. Normally, she would have been spending this time playing with Lucky but with Clint gone, she was gone as well. That literally left nothing for her to do except catch up on schoolwork.

Just as she was searching through her backpack to see where she might have left the book, the door opened, and she immediately abandoned that task in favor of something that was bound to be far more exciting. Three figures stepped inside, their jacket hoods initially obscuring their faces – which was a little strange, when she thought about it, because it really wasn’t _that_ cold outside, at least not compared with recent weather. Then again, people came to DC from a variety of climates and she couldn’t fault someone who was from, say Florida, for bundling up against the cold.

At least that was her thought process until the hoods came off. She recognized Natasha first but she was much more interested in her two companions because one of them she’d seen once before – in this store, in fact, supposedly casing the place - and the other she’d only had the pleasure of seeing on the television, although his hair hadn’t been white in the pictures they’d showed the public.

“Ohmygod, you’ve been harboring fugitives, Nat?” she all but squealed.

Natasha glared at her. “Darcy, please don’t make me regret doing this. Yes, the twins have been staying with me. I trust that you can keep this our little secret?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t tell anyone. Do the others know? The others must know. I mean, Clint lives with you and Robocop and Steve are always over, too.” 

Darcy found herself a bit distracted with Natasha’s response, since she was more focused on the twins, both of whom seemed to be bored with the conversation and were wandering around the lobby. The boy – Darcy couldn’t quite remember his name but it was something strange, not a name she’d ever heard before - immediately gravitated towards the books filled with tattoo designs and started sifting through them, while the girl –Wanda, Darcy recalled - seemed more interested in the jewelry cases.

She forgot that Natasha was still talking until Natasha sighed heavily. “Darcy, are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

Darcy looked back at her and admitted, “Not really.”

Natasha sighed once more. “What I was saying is that, yes, the others know about the twins. I told Clint earlier that I was bringing them over to the shop today and would probably be doing so every few days. I should also let James and Steve know…”

“I could text them,” Darcy offered, already reaching for her cell phone, as always only a few inches from her fingers. 

Natasha shook her head. “No, nothing that will leave a cyber trail. I’ll call James on route to class. While the twins are here, it’s going to be important that they stay out of the way as much as possible. When customers come in, they can either retreat to one of the back offices that’s not in use, or up to Steve’s apartment.” 

“I can handle that. That’s so awesome! I’ve never known wanted fugitives before!”

Natasha looked rather pained by Darcy’s response but she merely motioned for the twins to come over. “Pietro, Wanda, I’d like for you to meet Darcy.” 

Wanda moved away from the jewelry case she was inspecting. She studied Darcy’s face for a moment before saying, “We met before.”

“Right, sorta, when you came in to rob the place,” Darcy said with a grin. “Nice to properly meet you.”

Wanda didn’t seem to know exactly how to respond to that, but simply echoed, “Nice to meet you too.” 

Pietro reluctantly put down the book of designs he’d been examining – the pages had been turned to some of the more tribal ones – and wandered over. As he approached and his gaze fell on Darcy, she noticed a shift in his demeanor. Rather than looking bored, as he had since he came in, his eyes lit up and the stern scowl shifted to what Darcy could only categorize as a flirtatious grin.

“Pleasure to meet you, Darcy,” he said.

True, he seemed to be at a loss for where to go from there but she couldn’t entirely blame him for that. If the news reports were true, the twins had run away shortly after their 15th birthdays, which was over three years ago. She couldn’t imagine he’d had a lot of opportunity to flirt with girls during that time.

“A pleasure to meet you too, Pietro,” she said, offering him a flirtatious grin of her own.

After all, he wasn’t bad looking, for a guy with bleached white hair, which she definitely wasn’t opposed to. Despite Thor and Jane’s best efforts, none of her blind dates or set-ups had gone particularly well recently – those guys just couldn’t seem to keep up with her – and, if nothing else, having Pietro around the shop would give her a chance to get to know him. 

Natasha glanced at her watch and muttered a few choice curses. “I need to go but I’ll be back to pick them up this evening. Darcy, remember that they do not leave the shop and when you need to head out to class, send them up to Steve’s apartment. Most importantly, you don’t breathe a word of this to anyone who isn’t an employee here. Understood?”

“Heard loud and clear,” Darcy affirmed. “They’re in good hands, Nat.”

Still, Natasha seemed far from convinced, given that it took another few moments for her to leave, though that might have been because she registered that she was still carrying a book in her hands. 

Upon this realization, she placed the book on the counter and responded to Darcy’s questioning look with, “I found a photo album from high school. It’s got plenty of pictures of James, all good blackmail material. I figured you and Steve would enjoy looking through it.” 

The thought of seeing pictures of Robocop when he was a teenager was definitely one Darcy planned to follow through on later that day. However, as Natasha headed out of the shop, she remembered that she had two guests to entertain. 

Darcy turned her full attention to the twins. “Would you like the grand tour?”

-~-

Clint felt bad about lying to Darcy that morning about being sick but he hadn’t had a choice. His pager had gone off at close to 7 AM, waking up Natasha who was gracious enough not to bitch and complain about her lost hour of sleep. That seemed to mostly be due to the fact that she was now fully aware of who was contacting Clint at this odd hour. Ever since he’d come clean to her about his relationship and involvement with Detective Coulson, she’d been a bit more accepting of his extracurricular activities, although that might have mostly been because he’d managed to stay out of trouble recently.

Truthfully, the contact was necessary. With Natasha focused on her plan with Loki, Clint took the time they weren’t spending together to carefully reintegrate himself into the community; the criminal community, to be precise. Already, simply putting his ear to the ground had proven to yield considerable information, though given the situation, Clint couldn’t exactly say that the information was good to hear. 

Although it had taken everything in him to call back before his first cup – or pot – of coffee had been consumed, he’d managed, and now, a little over two hours later, he sat in Coulson’s office, watching as Coulson paced in front of him.

As he waited for Coulson to speak – or a sign from Coulson indicating that he should speak himself – he sipped at the cup of coffee in front of him. He wasn’t sure why or how, but in his experience there was nothing worse than the coffee at the precinct. He’d sincerely questioned how they’d managed to make such consistently awful pots of coffee, particularly given how much of the sludge all of them drank, but he had to admit that bad coffee was better than no coffee.

Still, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be stopping off for another cup on the way home. Even convenience store coffee wasn’t this bad. 

Coulson exhaled, bringing Clint’s thoughts back to the present, and when Coulson still didn’t say anything, he forced himself to break the silence.

“What’s going on, sir?” 

“Recently there have been considerable spikes in what we’re pretty sure is gang activity,” Coulson said. “Crime of all sorts has increased and after recent identification of bodies, there’s no doubt in my mind the feds will be coming in soon. You’ve got contacts out there, Barton. I need to know what, if anything, you’re aware of at this time.”

Clint was quiet for a moment, covering up the time he was spending collecting his thoughts by drinking several more sips of coffee. When the words were relatively stable in his head, he spoke.

“You’re right. The mob presence overall has increased exponentially over the past several weeks. It’s almost like DC is turning into New York or something. There’s never been this much of a varied presence of so many different gangs, the majority of which are coming into the city from the outside. It looks like things are rapidly reaching a boiling point.”

“Do you have any idea what’s leading to this?” Coulson asked. 

Clint knew the question had been coming and he’d been dreading it, in large part because saying it aloud meant acknowledging that it was real. The flipside of his dread was also because he didn’t want to have to answer follow up questions that he’d either have to lie on or compromise other people’s safety by telling the truth.

“I do, sir. Talbot’s got contacts with the Russians and the Irish, as well as several others. He’s stirring the water, promising a substantial reward, to anyone who will find the twins.”

Coulson leveled him with a sharp look in response to that. “Barton, I really hope you have the facts to back up that accusation. Jonathan Talbot is one of the most respected men in this country.”

“I know he is, sir. But I also know that if the public were aware of his private life, he would be much less respected. He wants the twins back and with them officially adults now, he’s got limited public, legitimate methods of finding them. I can promise you that he is pulling the strings and that the word has gotten out. It’s not just the reward, though it is substantial. Just think of how much power dynamics could change for the group that brings the twins to him. Everyone wants to be the one to find them and they’re doing what it takes to sabotage the others.”

Coulson considered Clint’s words before nodding. “Very well, Barton. I’ll keep that under consideration. In the meantime, I need you to track down hard evidence. Any correspondence, for instance, that could back up your words.”

Clint nodded and promised, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Coulson was quiet for a moment before he said, “And Barton? Be careful. If tensions are rising as high as you say it is, I don’t want to see you caught in the crossfire. The water gets too hot and I want you out of there. Understood?”

Clint nodded once more and said, “Understood, sir.”

-~-

“Buck, you still with me?” 

Steve’s words jerked Bucky back to the present. He blinked a few times as the diner came back into focus around him. Across from him in the booth, Steve stared at him, looking worried, and Bucky had to wonder just how long he’d been spacing out. He caught himself as he felt a surge of guilt at the thought of Steve worrying about him, immediately recognizing the negative self-talk for what it was, and took a deep breath to steady himself. Steve worried because he cared and that it wasn’t a reflection that Bucky was broken or damaged.

Clearly his earlier appointment with Dr. Jones was still present in his mind given that he was able to talk himself down before his heart rate even increased.

“Sorry, Steve,” he said automatically. “I was just thinking. Well, ruminating, I guess.” 

“Oh, I thought maybe… maybe it was something else,” Steve responded, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I thought the exercise might have been a bit too much for you.”

At the reminder of the exercise in question, Bucky fought the urge to look over his shoulder to scan the rest of the diner, particularly when he heard the door open and close and couldn’t see the new arrival given his position in the booth. His chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat, and he forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths, carefully counting the seconds as he pulled the air into his lungs, held it, and then exhaled as slowly as he could. The knot forming in his chest loosened up, enough that he was able to refocus on the conversation at hand.

“No, I’m doing okay,” he said, once he could find the words to speak again. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I know I need to stop using these safety behaviors.” He flashed a smile. “Besides, right now it’s a step down process. I trust that you’ve got my back and would let me know if there were any risks to worry about. Makes it easier to not be facing the door.”

“Then… what’s going on?” Steve asked with a frown. “I thought you were feeling pretty good after the appointments?”

“I was.” Bucky held up his arm, now encased in a splint. “It’s great not having two pounds of plaster hanging off of me.”

“But…?” Steve pressed.

“But I’m still struggling with the fact that it might not matter if my arm heals if I lose my license. I mean, obviously it matters. It’s the difference between having a working arm and a non-working arm. But I was excited to get the cast off when it meant that I was one step closer to returning to work. Now that everything’s up in the air pending the investigation, I guess that’s just driving the situation home.” 

Steve hesitated, and in an instant Bucky knew that there were thoughts going through Steve’s mind that he was not about to share with him. The realization made him vaguely uncomfortable – he and Steve had gotten so much better with their communication – and the thought that Steve might be hiding something from him now was discomforting.

“Wait until we see what happens,” Steve said. “It might not be as bad as you think.” 

“Yeah? You know something I don’t know?” Bucky questioned and immediately internally berated himself for passive-aggressively questioning Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Nope, nothing like that. But isn’t looking ahead and predicting the future one of those cognitive distortions on the lists that Dr. Jones is always giving to you?”

“Yes,” Bucky said reluctantly, even though he was certain that there was more to Steve’s words than just that. “You’re right. The only thing I can control is what’s happening in the here and now. I can’t do anything about something that might happen in the future.”

In truth, he’d had a long discussion with Dr. Jones about the situation and he’d left the session feeling a bit more hopeful. That realization let him know that he’d come a long way from where he’d been a year ago and even in the months after he’d moved to DC. A year ago, his reaction to something like this would have likely been catastrophic. Even upon moving to DC, he would have considered this a failure and a huge step back that he would never recover from. Now he was more open to other options, assuming the worst-case scenario happened. 

His moping was bringing down the entire mood at the table and, more importantly, his mind reminded him that wasn’t fair to Steve in the slightest. Not when Steve had gotten good news himself. Forcing a smile onto his face wasn’t that difficult – he was genuinely happy for Steve – and he refocused on the moment at hand. 

“You excited to go back to work?” 

“Excited and terrified,” Steve said with a chuckle. “I’ve been so used to having free time on my hands that it’s going to be an adjustment, even though I have to start slow. But it’s definitely going to be a rough couple of weeks, especially with finals coming up so soon.” 

“I have no doubt that you can manage it,” Bucky said, reaching over to cover Steve’s hand with his own. “Besides, I can manage everything else. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. You won’t need to worry about cooking or cleaning or bookkeeping. Just focus on work.” 

“What would I do without you?” Steve said with a grateful grin, and that somewhat stopped Bucky in his tracks.

Even after everything they’d been through over the past several months and Steve’s mother’s words to him over Thanksgiving dinner, he’d never fully registered that maybe, just maybe, Steve needed him as much as he needed Steve. In his mind, he’d been the person who came into this relationship lacking something - something that he’d found in Steve – and he’d really never once considered that he might have fulfilled a need for Steve as well.

Those thoughts brought up a surge of emotion but his only response was to lightly say, “I don’t know, your own cooking and cleaning?” 

Steve laughed. “Valid point. Which, of course, means that I would be lost without you.” 

Steve glanced at his watch – and it occurred to Bucky for the first time that they’d been hanging out in the diner for quite awhile after the several hours of doctors appointments they’d had that morning – and reluctantly added, “We should probably head back. Since Clint’s out, I should be there in case anyone wants to come in for a consult. That way I can hopefully get some clients on my schedule.”

Bucky drained the last of his coffee and nodded his agreement as he left a handful of bills to cover their meal and a tip on the table. Both of them tugged an assortment of jackets, scarves, and gloves on and Steve tucked himself under Bucky’s arm as the two walked outside. Bucky readily wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Now, particularly with Steve walking beside him, his usual – or previously usual - flash of panic at walking through Georgetown was all but nonexistent.

As they walked, he mentally checked off the list of positive steps he’d made just in that day: he’d managed all of his appointments and been open and honest during his session with Dr. Jones, he’d managed to sit through an entire meal at the diner – a meal that actually lasted longer than expected - despite challenging his safety behaviors and sitting without his back to the wall during that time, he’d been communicating effectively with Steve and using his coping skills whenever he felt anxious rather than letting those emotions build into something much harder to manage, and now he was walking back to the shop without any traces of anxiety. All in all, he had to admit that he was doing a damn good job, even if there was a part of him that felt as though he’d just traded his reliance on Natasha for reliance on Steve and still wasn’t fully able to stand on his own. 

Thankfully, reaching Shield pulled him away from those thoughts, and he stepped inside just in time to see Darcy fling herself behind the desk, curling into a position that he assumed was meant to look casual when really she’d never looked more awkward and guilty, although she did relax once her eyes fell on Bucky and Steve. Bucky raised an eyebrow, scanning the area to see what might have led Darcy to react to their appearance that way – maybe she’d been visited by a secret admirer, who she was hiding – but found nothing to indicate what was going on.

Steve had apparently noticed that something was off, given that he inquired, “Everything okay, Darcy?”

Darcy just grinned brightly at him. “Everything’s fine, boss. We’ve just got a couple of visitors.” At which point, as Bucky tried to figure out what Darcy was even talking about, she called, “It’s all clear! You can come out now!”

Two heads poked out from the hallway, eyes surveying Steve and Bucky warily, before the twins stepped back into the room as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening and it was expected to find the two of them hanging out with Darcy in the shop and they’d always been there. Although Bucky had seen them on and off over the past several months, he noticed that both of them were a whole hell of a lot less scrawny than they’d been the first time he’d seen them. Pietro even seemed to be developing some muscle tone, as though he’d been working out.

Pietro easily hopped up on the counter – and Bucky noticed that Steve tensed, then swallowed back any words of complaint with effort – and readily went back to chatting with Darcy about _something_ , maybe a video game judging by the direction the conversation was taking, while Wanda bounded over to Bucky and Steve. 

Before Bucky or Steve could question what was going on, Darcy explained, “Natasha brought the twins over earlier. She figured they could use some time out of the house. I’m guessing she didn’t call you and tell you like she’d planned…?”

Bucky automatically looked to Steve, who offered a small, barely perceptible shake of his head, indicating that he as well had not received a call from Natasha.

With that confirmation, Bucky said, “Nope. No calls or texts from her today.” Wanda hesitated as she approached them, looking at them uncertainly, and Bucky quickly added, “But we’re glad to see the two of you out of the house.” 

Wanda relaxed immediately, and Bucky got the sense that she was gearing up to ask him a question when Darcy suggested, “Now that the two of you are back, I was thinking we could order pizza or something? I’ve got class in an hour, so I might not be here when it arrives, and I thought it would be suspicious and/or weird and/or potentially asking for the money to be stolen to leave cash in an envelope taped to the door with a message to leave the pizza outside. But I’m guessing the twins are probably hungry because I’m absolutely starving and I would totally wait for the pizza to arrive but then I’d miss class again and I’m pretty sure the professor is not going to accept my excuse the Clint’s dog ate my homework.” 

“I’m not even sure how that logically makes sense,” Steve said after a beat of silence, and Bucky was relieved to hear that he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten lost in Darcy’s dizzying ramble. “But I think me and Bucky can handle ordering a couple pizzas and leave at least a few slices in the fridge for you and Clint.”

“How about at least three pizzas?” Darcy suggested hopefully. “You know how Clint gets.”

When Steve agreed – granted with a barely stifled sigh – Darcy picked up the phone and started to order while Wanda took the opportunity to ask the question she’d clearly been sitting on for the past several minutes.

“Bucky?” she started, her voice hopeful, and he tried not to wonder too much where this might be going. “I know the first time I came in here I wasn’t eighteen yet…”

“And you were planning on robbing the place, but that’s beside the point,” Steve said lightly.

Wanda flushed the slightest bit. “That too. But… but still, I was wondering if maybe I could get a piercing? I’m eighteen now, I can sign all of the documents, and I wasn’t lying about that when I came in. I’ve always wanted piercings and tattoos but being underage and on the street… that wasn’t really something that could happen.” 

The initial surge of mixed emotions in response to Wanda’s question was enough that Bucky took a few moments to sort through them and formulate a response that wasn’t drenched in all of those feelings. There was anger, though not directed at Wanda, merely in response to the reminder that he couldn’t provide piercings at this time because of the complaint lodged against him. The last thing he needed was for an investigation to take place and there to be paperwork showing that he’d continued to provide services even when he was technically on probation – not to mention that if the paperwork had Wanda’s real name on it, that would lead to more questions and probably complicate the entire situation given that the entire city was still looking for the twins. 

The anger he understood; the sadness and regret that came in response to the question was a bit harder for him to sort through. There was definitely sadness and regret that he was no longer able to fulfill his responsibilities at Shield but this felt like more than that. Something more akin to empathy or understanding – or maybe just a sign that he was still struggling to identify his emotional state in the present moment, not to mention the origins of his emotions.

Instead of responding to her directly, he asked the question that kept bouncing around in his head. “Why do you want a piercing?”

She shrugged one shoulder and he noticed that at some point, probably during the long silence while he’d gotten lost in his head, she’d crossed her arms over her chest protectively. When she spoke, there was a defensive quality to her words.

“I’m eighteen now. I want to make my own choices. It’s my body, right? So I should be able to do what I want with it.” 

And there it was, the part that he understood and the reason he felt guilt for being unable to help her. Reading between the lines, he’d more than gathered that the twins’ lives with their adopted father had been anything but easy – which he imagined was also a severe understatement – although he’d never directly questioned exactly how bad things were. Just knowing that the two of them would prefer living on the street to living in that household said enough, as did the fact that Natasha had been allowing them to live in the townhouse. 

He could definitely understand the desire to reclaim one’s body as their own. Which was why he hated having to let her down.

“Wanda, as much as I would be more than happy to give you a piercing or five for free, I can’t. There’s been a complaint lodged against me and I technically don’t have a license right now.”

Pietro took the opportunity to chime in. “C’mon, man, it’s December. Isn’t Christmas around the corner? Consider this our Christmas present, cause I want one, too.”

“We’re Jewish, Pietro,” Wanda pointed out.

He shrugged, but his tone was bitter, as he said, “Not according to Talbot.”

Bucky had the feeling that he needed to steer this conversation in another direction, given how angry both of the twins were looking. “Doesn’t change the fact that my license is in jeopardy. But if -”

Steve cut him off with, “When.”

Bucky reluctantly amended, “Fine, _when_ the entire situation blows over, I’d be more than happy to help.” 

Wanda’s expression had fallen a bit, although she quickly tried to hide her disappointment with a forced smile. “Yeah, I get it, no worries.”

Bucky glanced at Steve. “But if you were interested in a tattoo, Steve’s just been cleared to return to work and I’m sure he’d be willing to help you out. Same with Clint, if you preferred his style.”

He hoped he hadn’t overstepped his bounds by offering on Steve’s behalf, particularly given that he knew Steve needed to start getting paying clients to make up the money lost during the past several weeks. 

Although Steve looked a bit taken aback initially, his expression shifted into an easy grin. “Yeah, I’d definitely be up for that. We could go through a couple of the books, see if there’s anything you’re interested in, and I’m more than happy to adapt any designs you liked but didn’t feel were perfect for you.”

“Really?” Wanda asked hopefully. “That would be amazing!” 

Steve nodded and glanced at Bucky. “Yeah, we can head back to my office right now if you’d like, if Bucky’s up for securing the pizza.”

“I can do that,” Bucky confirmed. 

“I’d like to come back too,” Pietro said, having stepped away from Darcy, who, having finished her call to the pizza place, was gathering her books into her backpack and seemed about ready to head out. “I’ve been thinking about a tattoo but I had a few questions first.”

“The more the merrier.” Steve stepped back towards the hallway leading to his office with the twins pretty much on his heels. 

Given that Steve was likely to be in his office for the foreseeable future and Darcy was heading out, Bucky readily went to claim her previous position sitting behind the front counter in case any clients came in. As he settled down, he saw the uncomfortably familiar book sitting out on the counter.

Darcy was almost out the door when Bucky called after her. “Darcy? What’s this?” 

She turned back to him with a huge, vaguely disconcerting grin. “Oh, Natasha brought that over this morning. You were super cute in high school, Robocop. Definitely had that bad boy look to you. I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Used to,” he acknowledged. “Stopped during boot camp. So I guess you’ve seen all of the blackmail material, huh?”

“That and more,” she said with a knowing wink. “Promise me that you won’t burn any of the pictures and that you will share them with Steve. Otherwise I’m going to have to kidnap the pictures in the interest of public safety.”

“If you think I’d burn something that’s owned by Natasha, you haven’t spent enough time around her,” Bucky said reluctantly. “Trust me, after this many years, I’m properly terrified of her wrath.”

“True story,” Darcy agreed as she stepped outside, pausing only long enough to call over her shoulder, “Take pictures of Steve’s face when he sees the ones of you shirtless!”

Bucky just hoped and prayed that Darcy hadn’t made any copies of those pictures or taken pictures of pictures – and that was some _Inception_ shit right there – on her phone.

“I wasn’t just wandering around shirtless, I was on the beach,” he muttered to himself, since Darcy was long gone; as he flipped open the photo album to see if the contents were as unfortunate as he remembered.

They were.

-~-

The office was a disaster, to put it mildly. At least the desk was a disaster, if Wanda were to be precise. The rest of the office was quite organized – various designs and artwork taped to the walls, any and all tattoo equipment properly organized and stowed, and a small fountain in the corner – but the desk was covered in crumpled paper, empty coffee mugs, and crushed Starbucks cups, all of which seemed to be the largest size possible to get the highest jolt of caffeine for your money. 

Judging by Steve’s irritated sigh, this was not the condition he’d left his desk in and probably was Clint’s fault. She watched as he cleared a path and sorted through the debris, picking up a pair of wire rimmed frames and using the hem of his shirt to wipe off an unidentifiable substance from the glass before putting them on. She then shifted her gaze to Pietro, who was pacing, all muscles taut; looking the least relaxed she’d ever seen him. She questioned the reason behind it – was he against the idea of her getting a tattoo, worried about the possibility? – as well as the reason behind him following after her to begin with.

“Did you already have a design in mind?” Steve asked, bringing Wanda’s attention back to him.

Her heart fell as she realized that she’d never really thought about anything like that; after all, what was the point? There had never been extraneous money for something as frivolous as a tattoo, not when they needed food to survive and clothes to protect them from the elements. She wondered if not knowing what design she wanted would be a deal breaker, given that Steve was doing this out of kindness, not duty, given that she wasn’t paying him anything for this.

That was silly though. He’d already made the offer. 

“I don’t,” she admitted, a part of her still waiting for Steve to tell her that that was it, that this entire thing was over.

“That’s fine,” Steve said easily. “What about the particular place you might want it?”

That was easier and she almost breathed an audible sigh of relief given that she could answer that question.

“My wrist – inner wrist. Or maybe the back of my neck.”

Steve nodded. “Alright, either way, it sounds like you’re thinking something more on the smallish side. I can work with that.”

He pawed through a few leather bound books, and she caught sight of pages filled with designs before he handed one over to her.

“All of the designs in here should fit on the inner wrist or the back of the neck. If you see something you like, let me know. Like I said before, if you want it as is, I can do that. If there are any modifications or additions, just let me know. I’m happy to adapt any of these to fit what you’re looking for.”

She accepted the book, absolutely amazed at his generosity. Not only was he willing to give her a tattoo for free, he was willing to change his art so that it would be more meaningful to her.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage as she busied herself flipping through the pages.

“Like I said, I had a question,” Pietro said, breaking the few moments of silence that had developed.

Wanda fought the urge to chastise him for the belligerent tone he’d delivered the words in. Despite the kindness they’d experienced over the past several weeks, his default still seemed to be a mixture of impatience and anger. However, Steve seemed unphased by the tone and certainly did not look irritated or fed up.

“Shoot,” he said and when Pietro – and Wanda – looked confused, he explained, “Go for it.”

“Is it possible to tattoo over scars?” 

Just like that, the rationale behind his anger and posturing became evident.

Wanda knew the cost of asking the question was high – Pietro had always been defensive about his scars and asking that question meant admitting to Steve that he had them, that he was broken, and Wanda realized for the first time that she wasn’t the only one of the pair desperate to reclaim her body as her own.

Steve thankfully showed no visible reaction at the mention of scars – though Wanda supposed that scars were something that he was used to, given his boyfriend’s metal arm (she was pretty sure that if a belt could leave lasting scars on her brother’s body, the loss of a body part had to leave some as well).

In fact, Steve simply said, “Sure is. It hurts like hell though, from what I’ve been told. How much and how bad depends on the exact area you’re looking to get tattooed. Some areas, especially those with less fat or muscle, hurt more even without scar tissue.”

“So, an area like your side would probably hurt like fucking hell if you were tattooing over scar tissue?” Pietro questioned, and when Steve confirmed this, he nodded grimly. “Well, I can take the pain. It can’t hurt more than when I got the scars.”

Wanda could not have been anymore grateful for Steve’s calm, kind, completely hands off manner. There were no uncomfortable questions about how Pietro got the scars or why he was so determined to have them covered up. Steve simply handed Pietro a book of designs of his own and gave him the same spiel he’d given to Wanda.

Wanda, for her part, was having a hard time fully focusing on the designs. For as much as she’d tried not to think about it, thoughts – images, snippets of conversation – of her brother’s earlier interaction with Darcy kept coming into her head. She knew it wasn’t fair or rational but there was a part of her, an admittedly large part, that felt jealous. It had been her and Pietro together and alone for so long that she had to admit that she honestly felt threatened by the idea that their duo could become a trio with her on the outside.

She felt guilty for those thoughts – Pietro had every right to flirt and find a relationship, if that was something he wanted – and there was also anger, mostly directed at herself, at her wholly irrational fear of being pushed aside and forgotten. Because that was stupid. There was no more a chance that Pietro would forget about her and leave her than there was a chance of her doing the same to him. 

Still, when Pietro came over to her, book held in his right hand, and rested his free hand on her shoulder, her thoughts slowed and calmed and she registered how tense she’d become only when her muscles relaxed. She’d been flipping through the book aimlessly, barely seeing the artwork on the pages, when Pietro suddenly said, “Stop! That one’s perfect for you.”

“Which one?” she questioned.

He pointed and her lips curved into a smile. He was right, of course. With a few small changes, it would definitely be perfect for her.

-~-

By the time Darcy – who’d returned after her classes and spent most of her time back flirting unashamedly with Pietro rather than working – flipped the sign to closed, Steve all but breathed a sigh of relief. For his first day back, he was already exhausted.

After reviewing Clint’s schedule in the computer, as well as his own class schedule, he’d drawn up the days and times he could be in the office and already his schedule was near booked for the next several weeks. Apparently word that he was back had gotten around – he was pretty sure that Darcy and maybe Natasha and/or Stark were to blame for that – and half of the population of college students in DC had come by to schedule a session with him. It had gotten to the point where some of the appointments on the books had been consults because the line had practically been out the door, and he hadn’t had the chance to talk to everyone about designs and fee schedules.

Bucky had done what he could to help out, which Steve was immensely grateful for given that Darcy was distracted with Pietro. As Darcy handled shutting down the rest of the store, Bucky was still in the process of inputting clients into the schedule. A glance over at him showed Steve that he was almost or equally as exhausted as Steve felt himself. Between their morning doctors’ appointments and everything else, it had been a long day for both of them. 

At the least, Darcy was back on task and focused. Shortly before closing, Natasha had stopped by to pick up the twins, both of whom showed a distinct reluctance to leave. Steve was pretty sure that for Pietro, that reluctance could be named ‘Darcy.’ As for Wanda, he had to imagine that after so many weeks spent at Natasha’s townhouse, with very few outings, she was going stir crazy and ready for increased social interaction. Natasha promised to bring them back every few days and seemed pleased to hear that both of the twins were on Steve’s schedule for getting tattooed. 

With the twins gone, Darcy readily threw herself back into her job with renewed energy and focus, which Steve was grateful for given that both he and Bucky were dragging their feet by that point. 

Steve caught Bucky massaging the back of his neck, a clear sign that he was likely fighting off a headache, and quickly offered, “I’ll finish up down here with Darcy.” When Bucky hesitated, he added, “I’ll consider it a fair trade off if you take care of dinner.”

Bucky grinned tiredly and said, “That I can do but only if you’re sure.”

“I am. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”

As Bucky gathered his belongings to head upstairs, Steve caught him grabbing a small book that he’d seen sitting on the counter all day. He didn’t question it for long – there was too much else to worry about – but he made a mental note to ask Bucky about it once he came upstairs.

Darcy, for her part, was busy counting the day’s earnings, double and triple checking that against the receipts, and making the proper notations in the record book. Thankfully, she seemed fully focused on her task, which meant that Steve didn’t comment until she’d placed everything in the safe and locked it.

“So, you and Pietro seem to have hit it off,” he said lightly and was glad that he’d waited because there was no doubt in his mind that Darcy would have dropped everything in her hands if she’d still been holding anything at that time. 

“I guess,” she said noncommittally.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Darcy was nothing if not blunt and direct, often to a fault. 

For an instant, the urge to tease her, much in the same way she’d teased him about his growing affections for Bucky, was almost overwhelming, but studying Darcy’s expression was enough for him to stop himself. He had no idea why but something about Pietro was definitely getting under her skin.

So instead of teasing her, he asked, “What’s up?” 

Darcy exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. He’s not like any guy I’ve ever met. I can’t even tell what he’s thinking half the time.”

Steve chose his words carefully. Between the visits at the townhouse and Pietro’s recent disclosure in his office, there were plenty of reasons for why Pietro wasn’t like the other guys, but those were things for Pietro to tell Darcy about, not for Steve to share. 

“Really?” he inquired, keeping his tone light. “I thought you were always complaining about that with the guys you met.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone is like you and Barnes,” she retorted. “Wearing their heart on their sleeve and all of that shit. Even so, there’s something different with Pietro. I don’t know if it’s the freaky twin thing. I don’t know if it’s whatever made him and his sister turn into fugitives. I don’t know if it’s all of the above or something else.”

Steve hesitated before saying, “Look, I’ve had the opportunity to spend some time with the kid and the one thing I can say is that he seemed pretty into you.” He couldn’t help himself from adding, “Granted, he’s only had the opportunity to spend time with his sister and Natasha, so it might be that you’re the first girl he’s seen who wasn’t related to him or already taken by two guys who could wipe the floor with him. But still. He’s definitely interested.”

“Yeah?” she asked in a deceptively casual tone that was anything but. “Good to know.”

He surveyed Shield, making certain that everything was more or less in its proper place. “If you want to head out now, we should be fine here.”

“You sure? I haven’t cleaned and prepared the coffee pot yet.”

“Trust me, Clint will handle that when he comes in tomorrow,” Steve assured her. “You’ll get your caffeine fix.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said, her tone much more cheerful than it had been when she’d been discussing Pietro. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Glad to see you’re back to work.”

“I’m not sure my GPA is going to be glad I’m working again. But thanks. It’s good to be back.”

“C’mon, Rogers, your 4.0 isn’t going anywhere,” she said with a grin. “Speaking of GPAs, I should probably swing by the coffee shop on my way home to fuel up for the all-nighter I’m going to have to pull to finish those two essays I have due tomorrow. Or is it three? I should probably figure that out.” 

“Good luck,” he said with a chuckle. “Just don’t get distracted talking to Jane. Unless you bring your laptop with you, of course.” 

“You always were brilliant, boss,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “My laptop’s in my bag.”

“I think there’s also one last cup of coffee is you want to take it for the road,” he offered. “It’s not as though I’m going to be drinking it.”

“Brilliant isn’t enough. You’re a certified genius for that suggestion.” 

“I’ll be sure to put that on my resume,” he said drily, as she poured the remaining several gulps of coffee into a to-go cup. “Have a good night, Darcy.”

She offered her goodbyes as he walked her to the door, carefully locking it behind her and automatically checking all of the cameras to make certain they were on and recording. While nothing had happened since the cameras had been set up – or, perhaps, due to the fact that the shop was now covered in cameras – he knew they needed to maintain vigilance.

Steve turned off the lights before heading upstairs and opened the door to his apartment to find Bucky sitting on the couch, staring at the book he’d brought with him. As Steve approached – slightly concerned by the fact that despite the fact that there was plenty of noise made as he shut the door and traipsed across the floor, Bucky didn’t look up – he registered that the book was filled with photos. He carefully paused behind Bucky, feeling a bit uncertain and guilty as he looked over Bucky’s shoulder to see what he was looking at, and saw that the pictures were of Bucky – a much younger Bucky with shorter cropped hair and two whole arms – and Natasha. 

Bucky glanced up at Steve, at least providing Steve with the reassurance that Bucky didn’t mind him looking at the photos as well, before returning his gaze to the pictures. On this particular page, all of the pictures seemed to have been from a trip to the beach and Steve felt his heart contract as he saw the bright, happy smile on both Bucky’s and Natasha’s faces. For as happy as he’d seen Bucky over the past several months, the happiness had never been as unburdened and free as it was in this picture. 

That wasn’t the only thing of note though. Steve had seen Bucky shirtless plenty of times by now and while he’d noticed the black marks interspersed with the scar tissue on Bucky’s shoulder, he’d always assumed that those were part of the injuries suffered when he lost his arm. He hadn’t realized that those marks had been the top of a black tribal design that spanned the majority of Bucky’s left arm.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Steve said softly, for the sake of something to say.

“It was just another thing I lost,” Bucky said, his voice equally as quiet. “I thought about getting another one afterwards but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want the same design but I also didn’t feel entirely comfortable replacing it with a new one.”

“What changed?” he asked, though then felt the need to clarify, “I know you’ve talked with Darcy about having me design a tattoo for you.”

Bucky’s expression eased into a smile at that. “I thought that was obvious, Steve. I met you. That changed everything.” 

Steve couldn’t help grinning in response. “Well, that was sappy as fuck,” he commented, ruffling Bucky’s hair.

“Yeah, well, obviously I’m a romantic at heart. By the way, I ordered Chinese. It should be here in fifteen minutes or so.”

“Changing the subject, I see.” Steve checked to make certain that there was enough silverware and plates; even if odds were that both of them would be eating straight from the carton.

The few moments of silence helped him sort through the thoughts going through his head, the ones that had been brewing since he saw the tattoo that used to adorn Bucky’s left arm, and thought about the fact that Bucky had been discussing getting a new tattoo. Perhaps it was fueled by his conversation with the twins earlier, of recognizing what a tattoo would mean to both of them, as a method of reclaiming their bodies as their own.

When the idea was finalized and coherent, he finally broke the silence that had settled between them.

“You know that I’m more than happy to design a tattoo for you, but what if there were another option?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I have no clue where you’re going with this but I’m listening.”

“There are paints designed to go on metal,” Steve said slowly. “I mean, I’d be more than happy to draw up a tattoo for you but if you wanted, I could also add a design to your arm. Something for you to make it fully yours.”

For a moment, he was convinced that he’d said something wrong. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat, almost as though he were choking or having a panic attack, and the emotion in his eyes was enough for Steve to wonder if he was on the verge of tears. Then he swallowed, once, twice, before finding his voice.

“I’d, uh, I’d actually like that very much,” he said softly, and Steve had never been happier to find that he’d been on the right track.

-~-

Natasha’s perfect night had not included spending it at an embassy – not that this was the first time she’d been in one of the embassies for foreign dignitaries, though those were memories to reminisce over another time – with Loki. Naturally though, that was the necessary place for her to be. The past several dates with Loki had been spent with Jane and Thor, which, while more comfortable certainly, had not allowed her to fully implement her plan. She was aware that both she and Loki were holding back while in the company of his brother and his girlfriend.

Tonight though, Jane was working at the coffee shop – Natasha had made certain of this fact and when Jane’s work schedule had not accommodated this plan, she had offered to switch with one of her co-workers – and Thor was spending the night with her. Despite the amount of time she’d spent with Thor and Loki recently, she still had yet to see their father, which meant that thus far, there had been no interruptions or distractions while she curled up with Loki on the couch.

While developing the plan, everything made sense. In actual practice, Natasha was finding it difficult to remain focused on her mission. She’d barely seen Clint all day, since he’d run off that morning for his meeting with Detective Coulson. He hadn’t been home when she brought the twins back, another fact that worried her, but he’d responded to her worried text message by telling her that he was studying in the library.

Still, something felt off. She couldn’t have said what – maybe it was the stress of pulling a con on Loki, mixed with her boyfriend’s involvement with the Russian mob, combined with the fact that she had multiple papers and exams in the next week that she hadn’t even started working on - but it was distracting her and throwing her off of her game. 

Loki’s fingers brushed her collarbone and she forced herself not to flinch away from his touch. 

“Something on your mind?” he murmured.

She silently berated herself for letting her distraction become that obvious, though she easily found a response that would serve the dual purpose of explaining her silence while also hopefully ingratiating herself to Loki all the more.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I got into a fight with my father earlier today. I guess I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

His fingers combed through her red curls and she imagined the touch came from Clint, a thought that immediately made her muscles unclench and relax.

“What about?” 

“I received a lower grade than expected on one of my last papers,” she said, the lie coming to her easily. “He expects the best from me and he was disappointed in my performance. I don’t know why though. I’m adopted, and I’ve always worried that my father’s never seen me as fully his own even though he raised me. Nothing except perfection is acceptable to him.” She closed her eyes, as though ashamed of her words. “I’m sorry for complaining. I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re such a good student and your family clearly values you.”

Loki’s chuckle was bitter, and she knew she’d hit home with that comment. “Oh, I wish that were the case. I know what it’s like to be adopted, fathers never see you as their own but still expect the most from you. Except that your best is never enough.”

“You as well?” she asked, her tone radiating disbelief.

“Me as well,” he confirmed. “At least you do not have to compete against a brother who is not adopted. Everything I do is compared to him and even if I perform as highly, his work is valued more than mine.”

“That’s awful, Loki,” she murmured, voice dripping in sympathy. “I had no idea.” 

She paused for a moment, under the guise of lightly nuzzling at his throat, as she found her next opening. His breath caught in his throat, fingers tangling in her hair, and she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

“I have a confession to make,” she said, her tone dropping as though she were afraid of being overheard. “At times, I’ve found ways to set myself above my competition, just to make sure my performance would be enough. I’ve cheated on tests and made it seem as though the top student in the class had cheated from me. I’ve even destroyed other students projects before they were due and always made it seem like an accident.” She pressed her face against his shoulder. “Oh God, that makes me sound horrible, doesn’t it?”

None of that was true, of course. Her father had never made her feel like anything less than his daughter, and with her performance in classes and extracurricular activities there had never been a need to sabotage others. The few Cs she’d earned when she first started in school and was still struggling with the English language had been rewarded as highly as A’s and 2nd place was as highly valued by her father as 1st place.

“It doesn’t,” Loki reassured her. “I can understand that impulse. I have done that myself more than once.”

“What reason would you have for doing that? How could someone as smart as you need to sabotage others for first place?”

She hoped she wasn’t laying on the admiration too heavily but Loki didn’t seem to have noticed. Just as she’d suspected, he was more than eager for praise and accolades and wasn’t about to think twice about the motivation behind her kind words.

“I wasn’t always able to achieve first place and even when I did, it was not valued as highly as my brother’s substandard work,” Loki said bitterly. “I had to find ways to make myself stand out as different from him and as better than him.”

Natasha found herself distracted as her cell phone, tucked into her purse, vibrated against her leg. She forced herself to maintain focus as the vibration came once, then stopped, trying not to think of who might have sent her a text message.

“Was that only in school?” she asked carefully. “Or were there other areas as well?”

“Every area,” he said, and she refused to let her mind wander as her phone vibrated with another text message. “School, employment, even relationships. Most girls wouldn’t give me a second glance when comparing me to my brother.”

“That’s impossible. You are so much more _interesting_ than your brother. I could never have the conversations that I have with you with Thor.”

“That may be, but most women seem to care more about my brother’s appearance than his intellectual ability,” Loki said coldly. “Just look at Jane. She’s an astrophysicist in training and she showed absolutely no interest in me. Of course, I suppose it helped that _Rogers_ \- ” and his voice was dripping in barely restrained disgust and rage – “ - informed my brother of Jane’s interest in him. I never had a chance after that.”

 _Bingo._ Natasha moved in for the kill, crafting the perfect sentence that would get Loki to confess everything, just in time to be recorded and used as evidence against him, as her phone vibrated once more, and her stomach clenched. Something was wrong and she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She had to know who was texting her and why. Either something was going on with Bucky, leading either him or Steve to text her this many times, or something was very, very wrong with Clint, who knew where she was and what she was doing and wouldn’t be texting her without a damn good reason.

Swallowing back her questions, she made an excuse for stepping out to the bathroom, keeping her expression tightly controlled and her breathing slow and even. The last thing she wanted was to show Loki any signs of distress. She forced herself to wait until the door was locked behind her to take her phone out of her purse. She felt bile rise in her throat as she saw that all three messages were from Clint.

_Nat? Nat, I think I fucked up. I fell asleep. Woke up and the lights were off. Pretty sure the library’s closed._

_Nat, I don’t think I’m alone. There’s someone else in here._

_Help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the cliffhanger! I swear, the next chapter will come sooner than this one did now that my travels have decreased a bit.


	27. I Wish You Could See that You're the Antidote to Everything Except for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cliffhanger of the last chapter is somewhat resolved, Clint tries not to die in a dark library at night, Natasha makes some decisions that shed a bit of light on her past, Bucky and Steve attempt to manage damage control and parent the twins, and Sam is generally just fed up with everyone.

Clint was very much not pleased with the direction his night had gone in. All he’d wanted to do was spend a couple of hours working on papers and study guides for the finals that were coming much sooner than he was okay with. He’d even prepared himself for a long night of work, carrying several snacks and sandwiches, as well as the largest cup of coffee he could buy from Starbucks with an extra two shots of espresso thrown in there. Yet somehow, a mere hour or two after he’d settled himself in the second floor of the library, tucked away in one of the study rooms, he must have passed out on his pile of books. The next thing he’d known, the majority of the lights were off in the building and several hours had gone by.

Something was off. There was a strange taste in his mouth and his thoughts were coming far too slowly for normalcy. He’d scrambled for his phone, hitting the flashlight app and he couldn’t understand why it took him several minutes to figure out where he was and what had happened. It wasn’t until he’d focused on the empty Starbucks cup that his mind pieced everything together and he knew that this entire situation felt wrong, wrong, wrong. 

And he wasn’t alone. 

That thought wouldn’t leave his mind. Someone – perhaps the nice barista he tended to flirt with – must have put something in his drink. This entire situation seemed like a set up. The sensible, panicked part of his brain kept trying to tell him that he was being irrational, that there was no way something like this happened in real life, and he’d almost accepted that possibility: he hadn’t been getting a ton of sleep lately, he’d been stressed, it wasn’t unheard of to fall asleep in the library – when he heard the sound of footsteps.

He froze, quickly hitting the button on the flashlight app to turn it off, and then slid off the chair and under the table. Fuck his backpack and books. He could always get new ones if he lived that long. His fingers immediately typed out a message to Natasha.

As he sent message after message, it occurred to him that he shouldn’t be bothering her – she was on a date with Loki. But if there were ever a time to interrupt her, this was it. He tried to keep his breathing even and quiet as he waited for her to respond, hoping that her phone wasn’t off, because he couldn’t come up with a game plan on his own.

Thankfully, moments before her message popped into his phone, it occurred to him that he should silence his cell phone because there was no reason to draw more attention to himself. Not when he had no doubt in mind that whoever was wandering around the library in the dark was looking for him. 

_I’m on my way. Can you reach an exit?_

He considered the question. The footsteps seemed to be moving away, there might be a possibility of getting to the stairs, even if then he’d have to contend with opening and closing a door. Still, there weren’t exactly many other options. He could stay put and be found sooner or later or he could try to get out and just trust that his knowledge of the floor layouts was better than whoever was waiting for him in the dark.

 _I think so,_ he responded. _I’ll keep you updated._

He took a deep breath, tucking his cell phone into his pocket and as silently as he could, he slipped through the doorway, keeping his back to the wall and trying to target where the other person in there was at that point. The darkness helped – without being able to see, it was perfectly natural to pay attention to other sensory experiences, such as picking up on the vibrations moving through the floor with each and every footstep – and after a few moments, he felt confident in his choice to as carefully and quietly as possible creep his way towards the stairwell.

Every few steps, he would pause just long enough to listen – not just with his ears, but with his body – triangulating the other man’s position. As far as he could tell, the man was moving in a pattern, carefully checking every inch of the floor to find him. The man’s movements were methodical, steady, determined. Once one stack was clear, he’d move to the next, and so on.

Good. All the better for Clint to avoid him. Based on the man’s direction and trajectory, it was easy for Clint to bring up the floor plan of the library in his mind and organize his own movements based on the stacks he was pretty sure had already been cleared. As the man moved into the history section, Clint went through psychology. As the man moved to anthropology, Clint tucked himself into the sociology section.

So easy. Almost like a dance.

By the time the floor plan in his mind showed Clint that he only had two more turns through the mythology section to go, he was almost convinced he might get out of this alive; ignoring, of course, the barrier of silently opening and closing the door, leaving himself exposed and vulnerable in the stairwell, and navigating the first floor’s maze of stacks.

Maybe that would have worked if he hadn’t heard an exclamations of surprise and elation, followed by nine words he’d never, ever wanted to hear in Russian.

“I found his belongings. He’s here! Seal the exits.”

Every instinct – triggered by his fear and sending him into fight or flight mode (and he was definitely working more on the flight side of things) – told him to bolt. There was still time to make it to the stairwell. He could take out one man if he was stopped, but even in his panicked state, he could recognize those thoughts as foolish. He had no idea how many others might be lying in wait. There was no doubt in his mind that every man in there would be armed. 

Fight wasn’t an option either, as much as he might wish it were. His butterfly knife was tucked ineffectively in his backpack and, really, he would be the person to bring a knife to a gunfight for as much as that weapon might help him.

No, he needed another option. They expected him to go for the stairs, to intercept him there or on his way to the front door. He couldn’t give them what they wanted. He needed another strategy.

He brought up the floor plan in his mind again, paying close attention to the course the man had charted, as well as his own path and where he was currently standing. There were several windows, a few which led out onto a low roof. If he could get to them – and quietly open and close them – maybe, just maybe he could get outside and escape before they caught up with him.

A new map of directions settled into place, showing him where to go, how to navigate the stacks while hopefully avoiding the man up here with him and trusting that the other men would be waiting for him downstairs. He readied himself to put his plan into action.

“Hello, little bird,” the voice came again, each word translating to English automatically – something he realized he must really thank Natasha for if he ever saw her again. “Victor sends his regards.”

Then everything went wrong.

For an instant, he was too numb to register what was happening following those words. Then it was all he could focus on. The sound that came through his hearing aids – sharp, brutal, making him feel as though his ears were bleeding – went through his head like a thunderclap. Then the world was completely silent.

He blinked red out of his vision and tried to keep his heart from beating through his chest. This wasn’t like when he’d lost his hearing to begin with; there was no injury, the damage was already there and done, and he couldn’t afford to go into a goddamn panic attack now.

Controlling his thoughts was impossible. Keeping himself from falling back into memories – those last few moments of consciousness when there was only pain and silence and as his vision faded, those first few moments when he woke up in the hospital unable to hear the machines beeping around him, those first few days when he was too angry and broken to care that there were alternatives and that he had options and he welcomed the silence because it allowed him to shut the rest of the world out – all yanked him away from his current reality and situation.

But that was then and this was now. If he wanted to live through the night, he had to stay focused and present. This reaction, the panic and terror, were exactly what they wanted from him. He’d already lost too much time in his memories.

He forced his breathing to regulate – he’d already be lucky to avoid giving away his position with the ragged breaths he’d been taking. Now, both blind in the darkness and deafened, he knew he had no choice but to act and to act fast. He forced himself to bring up the floor plan once more and searched his memory for the nearest window, any window. Stealth was not an option anymore, not with his two senses down, because time was no longer on his side if it had been anyways.

He moved as quietly as he could, trusting that his light footfalls were enough to hide his location, and kept his body primed and aware of any vibrations through the floorboards that would indicate that the man was close to him. Judging by the man’s location and movements, he hadn’t found Clint yet. Clint held onto that knowledge as he made turn after turn and finally, blessedly, felt the glass of the window beneath his fingers.

He flipped the locks, shoved the window up, no longer caring if he made a sound. But he had; the vibrations through the floor clued him into the fact that the man was moving towards him.

For an instant, just an instant, he hesitated. That was where he made his final mistake. Through the window, his gaze fell on the figure moving towards him. He almost smiled. Good old Natasha, to his rescue again. Her green eyes were tilted up towards the window and her mouth moved, but she was too far away for him to read her lips.

From up here, the ground looked very, very far away. He desperately sought for something – a drainpipe, a lattice, cracks in the wall – that he could use to climb down.

Then something hard hit his left arm, nearly sending him toppling through the window. A spray of red hit the white trim. His knees threatened to buckle as the pain hit, blinding and raw and agonizing.

Somehow, despite the pain, despite the fact that he was on the verge of collapsing, his body reacted instinctively. He watched – feeling completely disconnected from himself – as his right hand grasped ahold of the window frame, pulling him through. He refused to think about how much this was going to hurt. What was pain, after all, when there was already a bullet hole through his arm and the next shot was likely going to go through his head or chest?

He took a deep breath and jumped.

-~-

Natasha hadn’t screamed. Not when she saw Clint’s body jerk as the bullet passed through it. Not when he plummeted 15 feet from the window to the ground below. She’d swallowed any and all sounds of her fear, nearly choking on them in the process, and forced herself to move faster.

He was still when she reached him. His blood seeped into the grass around him. For an instant, she panicked. His face was ashen, his chest rising slowly and shallowly. Then he groaned and his eyes fluttered open, blearily focusing on her as his lips formed her name.

“Natasha?” he questioned, and even though his voice sounded off and wrong, she’d never been more relieved to hear that one word.

“I’ve called the police. They’re on their way,” she told him and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“No good. Can’t hear. Can’t see too well either.” Then his breath hitched in his throat and he rasped, “Nat, fuck, you need to get out of here now.” 

She prepared to ignore his protests and to instead sign the words to him, but she was stopped when the front door of the library opened and a man walked out. He was dressed fashionably and neatly, in a three-piece suit, and even though there was no gun in his hand, there was no doubt from his posture and the sense of authority that he carried that he was no doubt deadly.

Natasha rose, ignoring Clint’s desperate pleas for her to run, and stepped around him as he reached haphazardly for her with his uninjured arm, as though he could stop her.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the man said in her mother tongue. “Leave now and I will not harm you.”

Now, she had a few choices. She could pull out the gun, concealed in her purse, and see if that provided enough leverage, although a Mexican standoff wasn’t going to help anyone. 

Or she could play a card, one she was quite reluctant to play because the results were likely to be dire and her father would most likely kill her, but it might be worth it to see what effect that had.

She straightened her shoulders, her words shifting into Russian without any hesitation.

“I will not leave him. I am Natalia Alianovna Romanova and this man is under my protection.”

The flash of recognition – almost fear – in the man’s eyes told her that she’d hit her mark. The fact that he now stared at her as though he’d seen a ghost left no doubt of the effectiveness of her strategy.

“Alian’s daughter,” he said slowly, and she forced herself not to flinch at the mention of her birth father.

“You know of me then.” She allowed a faint smirk to curve her lips. “Good. That makes this easier.” 

“Natalia Romanova is dead,” the man said, although he sounded unsteady and unconvinced. “She died in the same fire that claimed her parents.”

“You mean the assassination on my parents,” she said coldly. “And as you can see, I am very much alive.” 

The man seemed to have recovered his composure and bravado, and she hoped she hadn’t overplayed her hand. “Be that as it may, you have no jurisdiction or power here. You do not make the rules.”

“You’re right, I hold no rank in the chain of command. But you know of my family, and what kind of hell I can unleash if I so choose. You don’t want that, do you? Besides, if you are afraid to report to your superiors that you were scared off by a ghost, you have an easy way out. The police will be here momentarily.”

The man hesitated at that, and Natasha thanked whatever power in the universe that had allowed the approaching sirens to become audible at that moment.

“Go now,” she suggested. “And there won’t be calls I have to make later on.” 

The man shot one last look at Clint, then at her, and took a step back. “Your protection will not guarantee his safety for good. Victor has given us our orders. We will carry them out.”

“Then perhaps I should have a conversation with Victor,” she said, her voice like ice, and felt a thrill of pleasure when the man’s face paled.

He had no other parting words for her, preferring to turn his back and quickly retreat. She watched him go until she was certain that he wouldn’t double back and put a bullet in both her and Clint’s heads. Then she turned back to Clint and dropped down onto her knees beside him.

A glance at his arm showed her that he was losing far too much blood for comfort. Her hands fumbled for the edge of her dress and she yanked at the material, ripping off a strip to wrap tightly around the hole punched through his skin. He barely choked back a cry of pain in response to the pressure on his arm. She gently murmured whatever meaningful words of comfort she could offer, realizing belatedly that he couldn’t hear them.

She waited until his gaze fell onto her, eyes unfocused, before signing the words to him.

“You’re safe. The police and paramedics are coming. You were shot. Is anything broken from the fall?”

“I think…” he said, then trailed off, grimacing. “My right leg. Or, well, ankle. And knee.”

His eyes slipped shut again and she pressed her hand to his cheek until he refocused on her. 

“Don’t tell anyone but Coulson the truth,” she signed. “Tell them that this was some random, deranged person with a gun.”

She hoped he’d registered the words. Perhaps it was the blood loss or he was going into shock, but he was fading and fast. His body went limp, his eyes remaining closed even when she shook him and begged and pleaded for him to wake up.

She didn’t have to fake the tears staining her cheeks or panic in her voice when the police and EMTs arrived.

-~-

As often seemed to be the case, the coffee table in the living room was covered in a variety of half-eaten containers of Chinese food. Though the food often changed – sometimes pizza, sometimes Thai, but frequently Chinese – the condition of the room was pretty much its usual disarray. Not that either of the two occupants were particularly concerned with that. 

Steve had spent about an hour working on some homework, while Bucky took the opportunity to nap. Thankfully between the food and the rest, the headache that had been threatening to hit earlier never fully materialized. Bucky still didn’t exactly feel rested but he was awake enough to keep an eye on Steve, who had drifted off shortly after they’d put on _Mission: Impossible_. 

Steve’s skinny form, all bones and angles, was carefully curled against Bucky’s chest, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin. Thanks to his small size, the two of them were easily able to stretch out together on the couch. Bucky was more than happy to let Steve curl up against him while he kept an arm wrapped around Steve. As far as Bucky was concerned, there was no reason to move from the couch to the bed anytime soon. The blanket tucked around them was cozy and warm, and Steve made soft, content sounds in his sleep as Bucky traced his fingers along Steve’s collarbone.

Bucky could have readily drifted into a semi-daze, if not outright fallen asleep himself, when he was distracted by the familiar sound of his cell phone ringing. 

Steve jerked awake against him and mumbled, “What’s going on, Buck?”

“It’s just my phone,” Bucky said, taking a moment to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair in the hopes of settling him down before disentangling himself enough that he could lean over to grab his phone. “Go back to sleep.”

He was surprised to see that it was Natasha’s home phone – she was one of the few people he knew who actually still had a landline – given that she always called him from her cell phone. Then again, cell phones were known to die, there were plenty of reasons for why she might be using her landline. 

“Hey, Nat,” he said automatically.

Except that when he answered, the voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t Natasha.

“Um, Bucky? It’s not Natasha. It’s me. Wanda.”

He should have known that the recent period of relative calm was at an end. Things never remained peaceful for long in his experience.

“Yeah, sure, kid, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Of course everything wasn’t okay. Wanda wouldn’t be calling him if everything was fine.

“Yeah, I mean… mostly,” she said. “I just wondered if you’d heard from Natasha or Clint. Both of them should have been back at least an hour ago and, well, they’re not.”

He glanced at the clock on his phone for verification that it was close to 11 and exhaled slowly. There were hundreds of reasons they might have been running late. They might have gone out for a drink or been out late studying or had a nighttime lecture or guest speaker to attend or some combination of all of the above.

Then again, if any of those things had been going on, they would have told the twins.

“Have you tried calling them?” he asked, hoping against hope that maybe there was a simple explanation and no reason to worry. 

“Yeah, I called both of them. Clint’s phone went straight to voicemail and Natasha didn’t answer. I think something happened.” 

While Bucky was reasonably certain that Clint’s cell phone tended to go straight to voicemail on a regular basis, given that he consistently forgot to charge it until it was already dead, Natasha wasn’t known for her silence. Particularly after he’d moved to DC, she’d always kept her phone on vibrate, even in classes, just in case he needed to call her. He could assume she might have gotten out of that habit since his relationship with Steve developed but something about this situation still felt off.

He hesitated for a moment. “Do you want me to come over?” 

“Would you?” Wanda said, and she sounded so grateful and relieved that he knew he couldn’t go back on his words. 

“Sure, kid. I’ll be over in fifteen, twenty minutes. Will you be okay until then?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re fine. Or at least safe. I’m sorry. This is probably nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky assured her. “Even if it turns out to be nothing, I don’t mind coming over and hanging out until we’re certain.” A thought occurred to him and he quickly added, “Give Sam a call, just in case.”

“Will do. And thank you, thank you, thank you. We’ll see you soon.” 

As the phone conversation ended, Bucky’s attention went back to Steve, who’d woken up progressively more the longer Bucky stayed on the phone. Although Bucky would have preferred to let him sleep, he wasn’t exactly comfortable heading back to the townhouse without either being accompanied by Steve or at least letting Steve know where he was going.

Steve was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Natasha and Clint aren’t home and they were supposed to be. The twins are worried. I offered to come over until we can find out what’s going on.”

Steve frowned and glanced at his watch, his eyes widening when he saw the time. “Was there any reason for them to be out this late?”

“Nothing the twins are aware of and they’re not answering their phones. You up for coming along?”

Before Bucky had even finished speaking, Steve scrambled upright, which was enough of an answer even before he said, “Of course. You’re not going alone.”

As Bucky tucked his cell phone into his pocket and tracked down his jacket and assorted winter clothing, he had to admit that he was grateful to not be heading out alone. That was both because he had no idea what he might be walking into but also because with everything else that had happened over the past several months, he didn’t want to leave Steve alone, even in his own apartment. 

There were too many variables in play right now. Nothing felt safe. Sure, that might have been because he tended towards hypervigilance and saw threats where there were none. 

The empty plastic bag on the street could be an IED. The man with baggy clothes and hood covering his face could be a suicide bomber.

That was hypervigilance. 

As far as he was concerned, worrying about someone else – or a related person – jumping them after the unprovoked attack on Steve, the appearance of Rumlow at Shield, and the recent vandalism seemed perfectly acceptable. Particularly when combined with Natasha and Clint being AWOL and the number of bruises and assorted injuries Bucky had seen on Clint over the months.

He tucked his keys into his pocket, wishing for the first time that he had one of his knives or a gun to carry with him. Granted, that would likely be dangerous to the public and in the case of the gun, definitely illegal given that he didn’t have a license to carry, but he would have felt more confident and secure than he did at the moment. 

Bucky exhaled slowly, determined to keep his breathing even and steady and his thoughts slowed as well. There was no need to panic over what might happen. Until he had an idea of what was actually going on, he needed to focus on the current facts; there were two kids alone in a townhouse who needed support, and another two of his friends were out later than expected and not answering their phones.

There could be a million reasons for that. There was no need to think the worst.

Even if recently that seemed to be the case.

That was what he told himself until he and Steve were halfway to the townhouse and his cellphone beeped with a message from Sam.

_There’s been a shooting on campus. Natasha’s with Clint at the hospital now._

-~-

The past several hours had been a blur of flashing lights as the ambulance rushed him to the hospital, statements to the police, a dizzying number of tests, and all of that had happened somewhere in that confusing order as far as he could remember. At some point in the process, there had been a prick in his inner arm and an IV left in his vein and whatever the hell they’d been pumping into him had left him feeling relaxed and lightheaded. The red-hot poker burrowing its way through his left arm and the burning ache in his right ankle and knee had slowly faded to nothing. 

For the most part, he’d drifted, undisturbed by the commotion around him thanks to the fact that his hearing aids had ben fried beyond repair. Strangely, he didn’t mind the silence. Natasha stayed by his side, translating to and for him when his mind wasn’t working well enough to read lips or speak. When he grew tired of answering questions for the police – he’d already explained that he had no idea who had gone after him, that he’d just fallen asleep while studying, and there must have been a power outage or something because he woke up and some guy with a gun was shooting at him – he closed his eyes and trusted that Natasha would handle things from here on out.

She stayed beside him throughout. Even though the last few hours were in pieces in his mind, he remembered flashes of coming in and out in the ambulance and consistently seeing her face. Since he’d become aware of being transferring to a bed in what he was pretty sure was the ER, she’d been by his side, holding his hand when he wasn’t being poked and prodded. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been admitted to the hospital yet – after all, the room they’d left him in for the time being was a curtained off area in the ER - but they’d stitched up his arm and yanked his ankle back into place before wrapping it in plaster.

He’d been coherent enough to notice the lack of privacy and keep his mouth shut, despite how badly he wanted to ask Natasha questions. What had she said to the man to make him leave? What had she done – what had happened to cause the raw, haunted look behind her eyes? The tension creasing her brow?

That also influenced his decision not to tell the officers the truth. Maybe he should have told them what actually happened, despite Natasha’s orders, but when anyone could hear his words, that wasn’t exactly an option. He also had no idea how many officers were fully aware of his involvement with Coulson and who he could trust. The last thing he needed now was for word to get out that he was an informant. The Russians already wanted to kill him. If they were aware of the fact that he’d actually infiltrated their ranks, death would probably be the least of his concerns.

No, he wasn’t going to tell anyone except for Coulson the truth. If Coulson wanted others to know, they would cross that bridge when they walked over it.

Or something.

Natasha reached over to smooth his hair back and he managed to focus on her lips enough to read the words, “How are you feeling?”

“Comfortably numb,” he responded, hoping that the words were coherent and audible and unable to tell if either criterion was in place with his hearing aids gone. 

“Good. I called Sam to let him know what had happened. He’s bringing over your spare hearing aids.”

Clint considered that. It would be nice to hear again. It would be less nice to explain everything to Sam.

“How much does he know?” 

“I didn’t have to tell him much,” Natasha said, speaking slowly and annunciating the words clearly to help, which he was ever so grateful for because lip reading was difficult enough without being half in shock and severely drugged. “The shooting is all over the news. He’d been calling the two of us for awhile, as had James, and so I called him back and told him what had happened: some person with a gun broke into the library and shot you. Trust me, when he sees the shape you’re in, he won’t ask a lot of questions. He’s just worried about you.”

“And you,” Clint murmured. “How’re you holding up?”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re the one in the hospital, Barton. We’ll talk about me later, once you’re feeling better and we’re back home.”

“Something happened,” he said, although he managed to swallow back the words, _Something you’re not telling me._

Thankfully he was still with it and focused enough to remember that even though he couldn’t hear his words – or her words – the same didn’t go for everyone else.

Natasha exhaled slowly. “We’ll talk when we have more privacy. You should know though that my father is on his way.”

 _Oh._ That was bad. That was very, very bad. That was definitely the worst things could get.

“He wants to speak with you when he arrives.” Her jaw tightened as she reluctantly added, “Alone.”

Nope, he’d been wrong. That was definitely the worst.

-~-

Managing this entire fucked up situation after a full day of work wasn’t exactly what Steve wanted to do with his evening. But that was what he needed to do and given that both Bucky and the twins were considerably more shaken up than he was, he recognized that he didn’t have a choice. He’d had to talk Bucky down from a panic attack after he received the news about the shooting; a panic attack that escalated when Natasha didn’t answer when Bucky called her. 

He’d held Bucky’s hand to ground him and encouraged him to breathe in and out until his heart rate decreased and he was capable of walking the rest of the way to the townhouse. Despite the fact that Bucky had been calmer by the time the door opened and they were faced with the twins, one look at his face had been enough for both of the twins to pale and panic.

Still, Bucky had managed to hold himself together enough to explain to the twins that there had been an incident and that Natasha and Clint were at the hospital. Pietro looked sickened and snarled that he and his sister were well aware of the incident because it had been all over the news. Wanda, her face drawn and closed off, had shushed her brother and asked if they had any further knowledge of what had happened and how badly Clint or Natasha had been injured, and then lapsed into silence when Bucky and Steve couldn’t provide any additional information.

Thankfully, a mere five minutes after they’d arrived, while Steve was still trying to figure out who he should focus his attention on first – Bucky was trying to maintain a sense of calm in front of the twins and failing miserably, Pietro was pacing back and forth and tugging agitatedly at his hair, and Wanda was sitting in the corner of the couch with her knees hugged to her chest – the front door opened and Sam stepped inside.

There were bags under his eyes and he looked exhausted, but he flashed a smile at Steve and Bucky and the twins and tiredly said, “Hey, guys. I’m glad you and Steve are here, Buck. I don’t think Nat and Clint will be back tonight.”

“You have anymore information?” Bucky asked, his voice strained and tight. 

“Yeah, I have a bit. Some guy with a gun broke into the library. Clint was the only one in there; he’d fallen asleep while studying. Nat said he got shot in the arm and jumped out of a second story window to get away. She says he’s fine, more or less, and she would’ve put him on the phone but his hearing aids are busted. That’s why I’m here, to see about tracking down his spare set.” 

“Will you call us when you see him?” Wanda asked quietly. “So that we know he’s okay?”

“Sure, kid,” Sam promised. “If he’s up for it, maybe we can even get him to talk to you on the phone for a few minutes so that you can hear how okay he is.” 

Wanda relaxed a bit at that. “Thank you. We’d appreciate it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pietro muttered. 

Wanda looked shocked and angry and snapped, “You don’t mean that, Pietro.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Pietro retorted. “If this was our fault, you can bet we’re out of here as soon as Clint and Natasha are back.” 

“Uh, guys, why would this be your fault?” Sam asked a bit uncertainly. “How could you cause some random person with a gun to choose the night when Clint fell asleep while studying to break into the library and decide it was a great idea to shoot him?”

The twins exchanged a look. Steve could read the expressions on both of their faces well enough to recognize that both were backtracking and trying to pretend they hadn’t just said something they weren’t supposed to say. He’d made enough of those guilty expressions himself in the past when he was trying to provide excuses to his mother when he was sick and didn’t want to end up bedridden or in the hospital.

“Pietro just meant that it seems like a lot of bad shit follows us,” Wanda said smoothly. “We’re so used to always feeling like we’re causing trouble that Pietro was just blaming us for this situation even though, like you said, obviously we had nothing to do with it.” 

“Mmhmm,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow, and Steve remembered that with all of his mental health work, he was probably easily able to identify when a person was being honest and open and when a person was holding something back. 

The twins exchanged a panicked look and Steve decided it might be time to intervene. Whatever the twins knew, whatever they weren’t ready to share, didn’t need to be discussed tonight. Not when everyone was already emotional.

“Hey, Sam, need any help looking for Clint’s hearing aids?” he offered.

Sam shifted his gaze away from the twins and although his gaze definitely said that he knew Steve was distracting him, he nodded. “Sure. You good with the twins, Barnes?”

Bucky murmured, “Yeah, I can handle that.”

Steve was certain that Sam’s look of disbelief was reflected in his own expression but neither one of them said anything. Steve paused long enough to squeeze Bucky’s hand before following Sam upstairs. He felt a bit uncomfortable stepping into Natasha’s room, given that he didn’t know her quite well enough to be in such a personal place for her.

The room was very understated and organized – everything neatly packed away, the bed made to military specification – all of which made it seem a little less invasive for them to be in there. While Sam searched through the nightstand, Steve checked the closet and dresser to see if he might find them there. Thankfully, before he could get to any of the drawers that might have contained Natasha – or Clint’s – unmentionables, Sam let out an exclamation. 

“Found ‘em,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I’m glad that Clint keeps a spare set. Must have been rough trying to talk to the police and doctors without being able to hear.”

“Probably good that Natasha was there though. I’ve seen the two of them using sign language before. I’m sure she was able to help translate.”

Sam nodded and then exhaled slowly. “Shit, Steve, I still can’t believe any of this happened.”

“I think that’s usually the case with shocking events like this,” Steve said carefully. Now was not the time to discuss all of the events from the past few months – Rumlow’s attack, the twins showing up, Bucky’s attack on Rumlow, and now Clint being shot – reminding Sam of that was just going to bring him down more. Instead, he reached up to pat Sam’s shoulder and asked, “How’re you holding up?” 

“Me? I’m good. I’m fine. I mean, it’s been one hell of a day and now it’s going into one hell of a night but I can handle this. I’ve been through worse. Shit, I’ve seen much worse than a bullet hole in the arm.” 

Steve didn’t want to say what he was thinking, that Sam was anything, but fine, when it was clear that Sam wasn’t in a place to admit that yet. Instead, he just offered, “Look, if you need to unwind tomorrow or once everything’s a little more settled, maybe get a beer or a couple of beers to recover from today, just let me know. Me and Buck would be happy to meet you at the bar or you could just come over to crash at the apartment and we can pass around a bottle and play Cards Against Humanity like we’ve done before.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer,” Sam said, offering Steve a grateful smile. “At least once I see how Nat and Clint are holding up.”

“You need anything before you go?” 

“Nothin’ you can give me,” Sam said with a sigh. “I mean, a couple shots of vodka sounds great right now but seeing as I’m driving, it’s probably not the best life decision ever.”

“If you do need anything, give me a call,” Steve offered. “The hospital’s not that far.”

“Will do, Rogers. Don’t worry too much. At least not about me.” 

Steve wasn’t completely convinced that he could accept those terms as he followed Sam down the stairs and watched from the doorway as Sam made his way out to the car. He had no doubt that he was being far too vigilant but given that the news report had indicated that the gunman hadn’t been caught, he figured he couldn’t be too careful. 

He couldn’t stop himself from double-and-triple-checking the lock.

-~-

Every inch of her ached; brought on by the contortions she’d gone through in these cheap, plastic chairs over the past several hours and the overall tension and tension in her body. It had only been a short time – maybe twenty minutes – since the hospital had decided to admit Clint for the evening for observation. The trip to his room had been quick and relatively painless and now, settled in the bed and on the latest dosage of painkillers, he was in a relaxed and comfortable haze.

Natasha, on the other hand, was as far from relaxed as possible. While the hospital staff had been running test after test on Clint and repairing his injuries, she’d stepped into the first empty room she’d found and called her father. She’d provided him with a rundown of everything that had happened – from Clint’s involvement with the Russian mob, to his work with Coulson, to how she’d used her family name to scare off the man tonight – and he’d barely said a handful of words, except to explain to her that he would be on his way as soon as possible and that once he arrived, he expected to speak with Clint alone. When she’d questioned him, he’d shut her down, and she’d tried not to be angry and resentful of that. 

She had no idea what her father might be intending to say to Clint. She doubted it would be anything pleasant, despite her insistence that this was not Clint’s fault, and she also had no idea how much trouble she was likely in herself. Given the lengths her father had gone to keep her safe, she had no doubt he would not be pleased with the fact that she’d placed herself in jeopardy and potentially painted a target on her back.

Not that Clint knew any of that, yet, which should make her father’s interrogation of him that much more enjoyable. Since he’d been moved to a room – thankfully a single room, potentially given the high profile nature of the case – she’d considered trying to talk to him but that was a lot of information for her to sign to him or him to struggle to read her lips. Not to mention that with the latest dosage, his eyes had gone unfocused and his muscles relaxed. The last thing she wanted to do was force him back to reality where there was pain and discomfort and Russian mobsters to deal with.

Instead, she’d just sat beside him, holding his hand and threading her fingers through his hair with her free hand. She hadn’t thought about how easily she might have lost him this evening; if she hadn’t gotten there in time, if the shot had gone through his chest instead of his shoulder, if he’d landed even more poorly than he had from his leap out the window and his neck broke instead of his ankle. No, she hadn’t even considered any of those options. Not when he was right there in front of her and resting comfortably. Not when she could touch him for reassurance that he was with her and whole and in more or less one piece.

There was a light knock on the doorframe and an out of breath and blessedly familiar voice questioned, “Natasha?”

She twisted in the chair, wincing as her back protested the movement, and immediately flung herself to her feet when she saw Sam standing there. Two strong arms wrapped around her and she buried her face against his chest and stubbornly forced herself not to cry. 

“It’s good to see you, girl,” he murmured. “How’re you doing?” 

“I’m okay,” she said, almost automatically, and glanced over her shoulder at Clint’s still form lying in the bed. “I’m not the one who was shot.”

“Speaking of which, how is he?” Sam asked, following her gaze to the bed. “I brought his hearing aids, by the way. Figured that would help.” 

“He’s doing as well as can be expected. Like I told you, he got shot in the arm and broke his ankle and pretty much tore the hell out of his knee. They’re keeping him for observation tonight, just to make sure his condition remains stable. There was a lot of concern that he might have been going into shock from the blood loss when the EMTs arrived. He stabilized pretty quickly but they still want to keep an eye on him, just in case.”

Natasha stepped away from Sam, just for a moment, just long enough to move closer to the bed and sign to Clint, since he seemed to be waking up.

“Sam brought your hearing aids. Do you want them?”

Clint nodded his head, his movements slowed down from all of the drugs in his system, and Sam moved closer so that he could help Clint putting the hearing aids in. It ended up being a three-person process, given that Clint was operating one handed and Sam had never had to help with putting in the hearing aids before, but a minute or so later, Clint’s hearing had been restored to its usual level.

“I didn’t miss hearing those damn beeping machines,” were the first words out of his mouth. “How does anyone get any sleep in this place with that racket going on?”

Natasha almost laughed. “You know, I was really starting to worry about you but now you’re sounding like yourself.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re not though.” 

Her heart fell as she saw him prepare himself to start pushing her for answers she wasn’t ready to give. Not when he was in this condition. Not when Sam was standing right there. That would mean explaining her entire past to both of them, not to mention Clint’s own involvement with Coulson and the Russian mob. 

Before he could say anything that she would make certain he later regretted, there was another knock on the doorframe, authoritative and commanding. She knew that her father would be the one standing there before she even turned around. His face was a mask, no emotion showing through, and she swallowed hard. 

“Hello, sir,” she said, almost automatically, despite the fact that she hadn’t called him ‘sir’ with any degree of seriousness in longer than she could remember.

“Hello, Natasha,” he responded, his gaze quickly moving over her body to assess for any injuries or signs of trauma that she might have neglected to convey to him on the phone. Satisfied, he looked towards Sam. “Hello, Sam. It’s good to see you, though not under these circumstances.”

“In full agreement with that, sir,” Sam said, reaching out to shake her father’s hand. 

“I’m glad you’re here though. Would you be kind enough to accompany my daughter down to the cafeteria? I believe she could use some coffee.” 

“Certainly, sir,” Sam said agreeably, and reached for Natasha’s hand. “C’mon, I could use some caffeine myself.” 

For an instant, Natasha considered refusing to take Sam’s hand and furthermore, refusing to follow her father’s orders. But there would be no point in that. If he didn’t have his conversation with Clint now, it would happen at a later date, and while a part of her felt cruel for putting Clint through that while he was injured, the fact was that he was also medicated was likely to make this less painful than it would have been otherwise. 

Which meant that she accepted Sam’s hand without argument and allowed him to lead her through the labyrinth of the halls and down to the cafeteria. He didn’t appear to notice how quiet she’d become until each of them had a cup of coffee in their hands and they were sitting at one of the empty tables. She became aware of Sam studying her and there was a moment where she had the potential of heading off his questions before they started by opening up before he could start to ask them.

Instead, she sat there and quietly sipped at her coffee and waited for him to speak.

“Barton’s right,” he said, after several moments. “Something’s going on, Natasha. What’s wrong?”

“You mean more than the fact that our boyfriend just got shot and my father is interrogating him as we speak?” she asked quietly, and she saw Sam start the slightest bit at the mention of the interrogation that was currently going on. “Oh, you didn’t realize that was why he sent us away? He told me on the phone that he wanted to speak with Clint alone and there was no point in arguing with him.”

“Shit, Natasha, you should have told me,” Sam said angrily. “I wouldn’t have left Clint alone with him if I’d realized.”

“Look, Clint’s completely drugged up right now. Trust me when I say that having this conversation now is better than having this conversation later.” She exhaled slowly. “My father’s being irrational and I believe he’ll recognize that soon enough. It’s not Clint’s fault that he texted me before he realized how serious the danger was and it’s not Clint’s fault that I decided the best course of action was to run to the library myself while the police and EMTs were on their way. Nothing happened though. I wasn’t in any danger but my father blames Clint for the fact that he may have inadvertently put me in danger.”

“Look, we should get back up there,” Sam protested. “He’s not in any state to be dealing with this. I mean, Jesus-fucking-Christ, Nat, I’m no stranger to being shot at but that was in a war zone. Even I’d be pretty goddamn shaken up if I’d been in his shoes tonight.”

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. There was no doubt in her mind that her father had already had more than enough time to convey his displeasure to Clint. If Sam wanted to go back, she wasn’t going to argue.

Sam was already on his feet, and she felt a slight twist in her heart when the look he gave her was incredulous and furious. “Seriously, Nat, are you not coming with me?”

Her vision suddenly twisted and faded and she couldn’t quite focus on Sam’s face. Automatically, she went to rub at her eyes and a moment later, she felt wetness on her cheeks and the backs of her hands.

“Of course I’m coming with you,” she managed to say. The fact that her voice shook made her even angrier than the tears themselves had. 

But nothing made her as angry as the fact that Sam’s expression had softened into something pitying and concerned. 

“I’m sorry, Nat,” he said gently, as though she were something fragile and potentially breakable. “I guess we’re all a little on edge, huh?” 

She straightened her shoulders defensively – defiantly – and ignored the offered hand to help her to her feet, though she did respond with, “I guess we are.” 

Conversation was minimal to nonexistent as they made their way to the elevator and upstairs. As they moved down the hallway towards Clint’s room, she lengthened her stride; making it to the door before Sam did and shoving it open without any warning.

Still, any conversation that had been progressing ceased immediately. Her father had already spun on his heel to face her by the time she stepped inside. “I had expected things to take a bit longer.”

“There wasn’t a line,” she said, her voice equally as calm and collected as his. “I’m sorry if we interrupted you, it’s just after everything that happened tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to be away from Clint any longer than necessary.” 

Her father’s jaw tightened, betraying his only irritation, and then he glanced over her shoulder to Sam, who’d appeared in the doorway as well.

“It seems that you and Clint could use a few minutes to talk,” her father said after a beat of silence. “Sam, would you be willing to help me track down the cafeteria myself or one of those vending machines for coffee? I’ve still got a long night of work ahead of me after I leave here.”

Although Sam seemed a bit suspicious of this request – unsurprising now that he knew her father’s ulterior motives – he was smart enough not to question anything and said, “Sure, no problem.” 

Natasha waited until the two of them had stepped outside and the door was closed behind them to turn her full attention onto Clint. His face was pale, which she might have thought had to do with his injuries if she hadn’t just seen a much less severely depleted pallor less than twenty minutes ago, but instead was likely due to the fact that her father had told him everything. She tried not to be angry with her father, though that was becoming increasingly hard. She had wanted to be the one to tell Clint those things. To explain her life story instead of having someone else do it for her.

“I had no idea,” he said, and his voice was trembling and barely audible. “Jesus Christ, Nat, I had no fucking idea. I mean, I remember how angry you were when you first found out that I was in deep shit with the Russian mob. Obviously I knew you were Russian. But I didn’t realize… “

She cut him off, before he could find his voice again. “Nor should you have. I didn’t tell you. You had no way of knowing.” 

“I could’ve gotten you killed tonight.” This time his voice broke completely. “Fuck, Natasha. You could’ve died because of me.”

“Despite what my father would have you believe, I was in no danger of dying,” she said curtly. “And everything I did tonight was my choice. None of this is on you.” 

“I wouldn’t have called you if I’d known. I would have handled it myself.”

“You would have died,” she snapped. “You wouldn’t be here now, having this argument with me, because you would be in the basement and I would be coming to identify your body. I don’t regret the choice I made, Clint. Can’t you see that?” 

He was silent and still and if his eyes hadn’t been open, she might have questioned if just like that, he’d lost consciousness because his chest was barely rising and falling and his face seemed to be losing more and more color by the minute. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palm as her hands clenched into fists. There was no doubt that whatever his next words would be; she wasn’t going to be ready to hear them. Whatever her father had said had caused significant damage. She hoped to God that it wouldn’t be irreparable.

Clint’s next words erased any hope of that.

“Your father expects me to break up with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, this chapter completely jumped the shark and I left you with another cliffhanger and I am so very sorry and a terrible, terrible human being.
> 
> More resolutions coming, I promise! The next chapter will actually be starting pretty much where this one ended.


	28. As Days Go By, The Night's On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha and Clint have a heart-to-heart, Bucky and Steve babysit the twins, Tony (or at least his voice) makes a reappearance, and Sam is a saint as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-harming behaviors in this chapter.

“Well, it’s a damn good thing that my father isn’t part of this relationship and has no say in what happens,” Natasha said, biting off each word as though it physically caused her pain.

Her expression was as closed off as her father’s had been but Clint could see the anger in the tension in her jaw and glinting in her eyes. For an instant, Clint considered just shutting his mouth – he didn’t think Natasha would push things, given the condition he was in – but there wasn’t a point to stopping himself now. 

Not when he’d already promised himself that he would commit to this. He didn’t have a choice. Not after the things Natasha’s father had told him.

Still, the thought of having this conversation was exhausting. He was already drained from the events of the night; honestly, there was nothing like trying to outmaneuver a hitman, only to get shot and fall out of a window to make you feel really good. The conversation with Natasha’s father hadn’t exactly helped matters. The cold anger directed at him throughout had been enough and realizing how much his ignorance may have cost Natasha pretty much depleted him entirely.

Still, he couldn’t seem to shut his mouth or keep things focused. He should have made sure that she understood and accepted why he couldn’t be with her anymore. Instead, he kept asking questions. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked pointlessly because, really, it didn’t matter why she hadn’t told him. He knew what he had to do. Nothing she might say would change that.

She stared at him for a long moment, long enough that he wasn’t sure she was going to answer.

“Because there was never a good time. Because it’s not something I’ve ever shared with anyone before. Even James doesn’t know.” 

That threw him a bit. He’d always assumed that Bucky knew everything about Natasha.

“Why?” he asked and once again mentally berated himself for continuing this conversation longer than necessary.

Then again, he justified to himself that if this was the last time he was ever going to see Natasha, he might as well find out as much information as he could. He didn’t need unanswered questions piling up in his brain and driving him to the point of insanity. Besides, this was information that might be helpful. It wasn’t as though he was out of the crosshairs of the Russian mob or that his time undercover was over. He needed to know what the outcome of Natasha’s actions tonight might be and see what type of damage control he could manage. 

“Because it was dangerous for anyone to know. It was dangerous for them and it was dangerous for me.” There was a beat of silence before Natasha added, “And keeping it distanced from myself made me sometimes wonder if I was even the same girl Ivan rescued from the fire. I barely had any memories from then and it wasn’t until my age reached double digits that my father told me the truth about my family.”

“That your parents were part of the Russian mob,” he said quietly.

Natasha exhaled slowly. “Yes. That they were assassinated and I was meant to be killed as well. After all, the ones who killed my parents didn’t want their daughter to be around to stake a claim later on. My adoptive father knew Ivan – Ivan had been providing him information for years – and while I will never know the full details of the deal, Ivan must have promised him something substantial in order for my father to agree to take me in. But he did, adopted me as his own and Americanized my name, and did his best to keep me safe. He provided me with the information I needed to know to stay off the radar and he trained me to defend myself if that became necessary.”

Even though Clint had already heard the majority of that information, presented with much less emotion and considerably more anger from Natasha’s father, it still took a few moments for him to process everything and formulate words of his own again. “And tonight you put yourself on the radar.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. My father and Ivan did an excellent job covering my tracks. Every living person who was alive at the time of the assassination has no reason to believe that I’m still alive. The only thing I told the hitman tonight was that I have knowledge of what happened to the Romanova family. Incriminating in some respects but much less dire than my father believes the situation is at this time.”

There. Now they were back to the matter at hand. The final conversation they would ever have. 

“That doesn’t change things, Nat,” he said, forcing each word out with effort. “Your father’s right.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Are you really that weak and pathetic, Barton? I thought you had balls. I thought you made decisions for yourself. I didn’t think you would fold this easily and let my father make decisions for you.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the surge of anger he felt or the sheer desperation of the moment – both probably led to him not bothering to sensor himself – because as soon as his next words left his lips, he realized that he’d intended to wound her. 

“Why do you even care, Nat?” he snapped right back. “You’ve still got Sam. What do you need me for? I’m nothing to you.” 

His words literally rocked her back on her heels and her entire face closed off entirely, a clear sign to him that he’d severely overstepped in his bounds. She swallowed hard, once, twice, and when he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes, he found himself questioning if there would be anyway to take those words back and pretend he’d never said them.

“Is that what you really think?” she asked softly. “I thought it was obvious that I love you, you idiot.”

Half of him wanted to say yes, that those were his actual thoughts and he’d never once believed that she loved him and that he’d even questioned if maybe she was using him. But aside from the fact that he had no idea how he would justify the thought of her using him – his mind insisted he could twist things further, claim she only wanted him because of his information on the mob because of her family’s connection – he couldn’t say that to her. Not when she looked like he’d struck a literal blow. Not when that was far from the truth.

But if he admitted that, he wouldn’t be able to push things as far as they needed to go. He’d lose his strength. He’d cave and go back to her and ignore her father’s words and warnings.

Clint didn’t care. As much as he didn’t want to see Natasha killed because of him, he couldn’t cause her pain. Not by lying or at least stretching the truth. She didn’t deserve that. Not after everything the two of them had been through together.

Not when he still loved her.

He exhaled raggedly. “Shit, Natasha, I don’t know.” He knew that wasn’t exactly steering the direction of the conversation in a particularly positive direction; the two paths were still there and he could choose which one to follow.

“I know I’m not always the most expressive when it comes to my emotions,” Natasha said. 

While that might have been true, he had no problem reading her emotional state at this point. His words had devastated her. He’d never seen her this off-balance and open and raw and vulnerable in the years he’d known her, let alone in the time they’d been dating. 

“But I thought I’d shown enough for you to know,” she continued. “I certainly used my words and my actions. I assumed you knew that you were the most important person in my life.” 

Those words, mixed in with the clearly emotional response, were what guided him towards one path. Maybe he was choosing wrong. Maybe this would mean both of their downfalls. But for this night, there wasn’t another direction he could take.

“I didn’t mean that I don’t know,” he tried to clarify. “I heard your words. Your actions backed them up. This wasn’t something where you weren’t showing or giving me enough. Honestly, Nat, this was me being fucked up and insecure about everything.”

“Are you really breaking up with me by doing the whole, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ thing? Because even for you, Barton, that’s pretty low.” 

He wanted to tell her that was exactly what he was doing. That gave him the perfect out and made everything simple. She would hate him and he could live with that. The more she hated him, the more she would be out of his life, and the greater chance he could keep her safe from the Russian mob.

He couldn’t do any of that though. 

Maybe she’d been right earlier when she called him weak because obviously he couldn’t do what needed to be done. He should have ended things, forever alienated her from his life, and dealt with the situation on his own. Either he would have died trying or he would have succeeded and made sure to leave town, hopefully drawing at least some of the mob presence after him. 

Instead, he just closed his eyes and brokenly said, “I’m not breaking up with you at all.”

He’d never hated himself quite as much but he still was more certain that he could forgive himself for these actions more than he ever could have forgiven himself for going through with her father’s orders.

-~-

Earlier, Steve had speculated on the fact that this wasn’t particularly how he’d wanted to spend his evening. Somehow that feeling had only succeeded in increasing, and the tension in the room was setting even him completely on edge. Bucky had made himself and the twins a drink – and Steve made certain that he made the drinks for the twins weak – and somehow rather than decreasing the anxiety in the room, it had amplified everything. Now Steve felt as though he were on the verge of crawling out of his skin. 

As much as he’d wanted a drink of his own, he’d refused the offer and subsequently fought off the urge to make one himself. Regardless of whether or not he slept tonight, he had classes and work at Shield tomorrow and he couldn’t afford to be hungover in the morning. He might have been more tempted if there were a chance that classes would be cancelled but given that the shooting had occurred at G.W. and not at Corcoran, there wasn’t a whole lot of hope for that happening.

He’d half-heartedly recommended bed when the clock hit midnight but no one accepted the offer. Surprisingly, the twins stayed downstairs – either because the alcohol helped to relax them and they were feeling more comfortable with Bucky and Steve or because they didn’t want to be alone – though they weren’t talking, at least not to Bucky and Steve. They’d remained curled up together on one couch, speaking quietly to one another in what Steve was fairly certain was Romanian. 

Bucky, for his part, had offered as many distractions as he could and put on a movie, although the twins weren’t watching. He’d also offered to play cards, an offer that no one thankfully accepted, given that Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off of his cell phone. He’d received a few texts from Natasha and Sam but there hadn’t been a call from either one of them, which clearly continued to unnerve him. Steve figured that Bucky wouldn’t feel completely comfortable until he heard from Natasha’s own lips that she was all right and in one piece. 

Steve thought the tension in the room had decreased until the near silence was broken by the sound of his phone blasting AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds.” Bucky jerked in surprise, nearly spilling his drink all over himself, and both of the twins jumped and tensed, as though prepared to flee.

For his part, Steve only let out an exhalation of frustration and said, “Sorry, guys. It’s nothing to worry about.”

He hesitated for a moment as he glanced down at the caller ID and saw Tony Stark’s name there – not that he’d had any doubt, Tony was the only one in his phone who had that ringtone – and then reluctantly stepped into the kitchen to answer. He hadn’t spoken to Tony since the disastrous Friendsgiving event and he’d been hoping to keep things that way. Still, if Tony was calling him, that might mean something – something else, naturally – was going on. 

“Hello, Tony,” he greeted with as much enthusiasm as he could muster and was surprised to hear Tony respond with what he was almost completely certain was a gasp of relief.

“Hey, Rogers,” Tony replied, and his tone was far too conversational and calm to be anything but an act. “Glad you answered. I heard there was a shooting on campus. I just wanted to make sure that yo – that everything – was okay.”

“Tony, I know you can’t keep things straight in your head but I don’t even go to G.W., I go to Corcoran,” Steve said as patiently as he possibly could. It was just like Tony to not even remember which institution Steve attended. It wasn’t as though Tony initially approached him at one of the Corcoran Galleries or anything like that. 

“Can’t blame me for forgetting where everyone I know goes to school,” Tony said, proving Steve’s suspicions. “Still, I’m glad to hear that you’re safe and in one piece. It’s not as though Shield needs to lose anymore business.”

Once again, Steve was unsurprised. Of course Tony was more concerned about the business end of things and why shouldn’t he be? Shield was one of his investments and between Steve’s injuries and Bucky’s own injury and current suspension, the shop hadn’t exactly been raking in the money it used to.

Speaking of that, Steve supposed he needed to inform Tony of what actually had happened. Especially since he needed to keep Tony on his good side, given that Tony was seeing what he could do to fix things for Bucky. 

“Well, uh, that’s still actually a concern,” he said, a bit reluctantly. “Like I said, I’m fine but the victim of the attack tonight was actually Clint. Given that he got shot, I’m guessing he won’t be coming into work anytime soon.” 

There was a beat of silence before Tony asked, “You have anymore information than that, Rogers? Like, where he was shot? Where he is now? Whether anyone else was hurt?”

“I don’t know why it matters to you,” Steve couldn’t stop himself from saying, “But since you need to prepare for how it might effect the business, I guess I can tell you what I know. He got shot in the arm. He’s at G.W. Hospital. Natasha and Sam are with him. Per Sam’s report, Clint’s expected to make a full recovery.” 

“G.W. Hospital, with Sam and Natasha, alright, got it,” Tony repeated. “Thanks, Rogers.” There was a beat of silence before he inquired, “You, uh, need anything?” 

“No, we’re good. Bucky’s here and we’re staying with Natasha’s guests for the night since she’s gone.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Tony said, and he sounded a bit distracted. “Alright, good to talk to you. I’ll be stopping by the shop this week.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said immediately, but the absence of sound from the other end of the line told him that Tony had already hung up.

Steve stared at his phone, trying to curb his frustration over the call. He jumped when Bucky’s voice suddenly cut into his ruminations on Tony’s motives for the call.

“What did Stark want?” 

Steve glanced up to find Bucky standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, and was unpleasantly reminded that when faced with Tony the last time, Bucky had gotten completely trashed and irrationally jealous. Hopefully there would not be a repeat of that tonight because Steve was 99.9% certain he could not handle that after everything else.

“He’d seen the news about the shooting and wanted to make certain it hadn’t been me,” Steve said. “I guess he thinks I get into trouble a lot, not to mention he can’t remember which school I actually attend.”

Bucky tilted his head at that. “It sounds like he was worried about you.”

“Or worried about the shop, at least,” Steve responded, tucking his phone back into his pocket. 

“I wouldn’t sell him short,” Bucky responded, and Steve hoped that this wasn’t a sign of Bucky’s jealousy. “He cares about you. Who knew he had a heart?” 

“He doesn’t care about me,” Steve said, almost snapping. “Trust me, he’s made that abundantly clear over the years. He didn’t care about me then, he doesn’t care about me now. He cares about Shield because if it fails, it’s his money on the line.”

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that wasn’t quite true. Tony could have pulled out of Shield a hundred times, taken away his funding, put all of the financial security on Steve’s shoulders, where after the events of the past several months, Steve probably would have had to close because despite all of his work to make the shop financially feasible and not reliant on Tony, Steve had cut corners he wouldn’t have otherwise. If the weight of the shop had been on his shoulders, he couldn’t have kept things going through his own injuries and Bucky being out of work for the past several months. He would have had to replace Bucky and the only thing that had prevented that was knowing that he could rely on Stark to keep the business going even if there were losses.

Bucky raised an eyebrow but merely said, “Whatever you say, Steve.”

Anything Steve might have said in response was cut off by a quiet voice coming from somewhere behind Bucky. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Bucky turned so that he – and Steve – could see Wanda standing behind him, all but wringing her hands. 

“Yeah, kid, everything’s fine,” Bucky assured her. “Steve just got a call from Tony, checking in about the shooting.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression falling the slightest bit. “I was hoping that it was Sam or Natasha.”

Steve remembered that Sam had promised to call once he was at the hospital, so that he could update everyone and put Clint on the phone as well. He could see why the lack of communication was starting to worry her – now that he realized it, it was worrying him as well – and he knew he had to head off those thoughts as quickly as possible.

“I’m sure they’ll be calling soon enough,” Steve said, despite the fact that it was after midnight and Sam had been gone for well over an hour. All of them knew that phone call would not come. “I mean, it’s also late. Clint might have been asleep by the time Sam got there. I’m sure the doctors have him pretty heavily medicated, so I’d bet he’s tired.”

“Right,” Wanda said, nodding, but her expression and tone made it clear that she was not comforted by those words at all. 

Bucky exhaled slowly. “How about we all call it a night, huh? It’s late. It’s been a long day. There’s nothing we can do right now. Makes the most sense to get some sleep and we can see where things stand in the morning.” His voice softened a bit as he asked Wanda, “The two of you need anything?”

Wanda wrinkled her nose. “Anything like what?”

“I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t give you a Xanax after you had alcohol earlier,” Bucky acknowledged. “But I guess I could make you another drink. I’m pretty sure my shrink told me that’s not exactly good for helping with sleep because it fucks with REM or something-” At which point he seemed to register the same thing that Steve had already realized, which was that he’d completely lost Wanda. “But it might help relax you.” 

“We’ll take it,” Pietro said, from over Wanda’s shoulder.

Bucky looked like he wanted to swallow back his words but it was too late to do so. Instead, he just sighed heavily and reluctantly said, “I’ll make you each a glass, kid, as long as you promise to go up to bed.” 

Wanda glanced behind at her brother and then quickly nodded. We can do that.” 

Bucky went back into the living room with the twins to prepare the drinks, and Steve had no doubt that Bucky would likely be knocking back another drink himself. There was a part of him that wanted to stop Bucky before he risked getting drunk or getting the twins drunk; not to mention that he had a sneaking suspicion that the more often the twins saw where the alcohol was kept, the more likely it was that the two of them would sneak in to snag some while they were home alone. After all, Wanda already knew how to pick locks. 

Truth be told, that wasn’t his biggest worry. He had plenty of others to keep his mind occupied. For starters, he was admittedly worried about Clint and Natasha, Sam as well, after the events of tonight. He had no idea what the morning would bring. He had no idea how Bucky and the twins would handle seeing Clint and Natasha when they returned.

And he couldn’t get Tony’s phone call out of his head: the idea that Tony might have been legitimately worried about him. Not that that should count for anything after everything else Tony had done. Still, he owed Tony or he might, at the least. If Tony was able to get Bucky’s license fully reinstated, Steve might forgive him for everything else. Anything that would make Bucky smile again, really smile, would be worth it.

“Steve?” Bucky said, startling him out of his thoughts.

He blinked and found Bucky standing in the doorway, a fresh drink in hand just as Steve had expected. His brow was furrowed and he looked concerned. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Everything’s as fine as it’s going to be,” Steve said, managing a shaky smile. “You ready to head up to bed?” 

Bucky nodded and offered Steve his free hand, which just so happened to be his metal one. Steve was struck for a moment by how much things had changed from when he’d first met Bucky and he’d done everything he could to avoid touching Steve with his metal arm. Trying to focus on that instead of everything else that had happened that night, he accepted and followed Bucky up to his room.

-~-

Natasha wanted to be angry – at Clint, at her father, at herself – but she couldn’t manage to summon up any emotion. Clint’s last words had taken the last of his energy and as she’d watch him slump back against the pillows, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from moving back to his side.

He’d had the decency to say, “I’m sorry, Nat” and while she appreciated the gesture, she’d shushed him and told him to get some rest. Thankfully, the nurse had stopped in almost at that exact moment to take Clint’s vitals and upon noting that his heart rate and blood pressure were a bit high, checked in with him to see how he was doing. Natasha took the opportunity to lie through her teeth and explain that she’d just had to talk Clint down from a panic attack and a few moments later, he’d been given his next round of painkillers and a sedative.

She’d watched the tension leave his body and combed her fingers through his hair until his eyes closed. She’d waited until she was certain he was asleep before all but leaping out of the chair and disappearing into the bathroom. Even in that state, she’d made certain the door to the room was closed and kept the bathroom door cracked open. If anyone – whether it was Sam, a nurse, or someone more threatening – came into the room, she wanted to know and be prepared to act. 

For the past several hours, she’d been promising herself that she wouldn’t cry – not anymore than she already had at least – but she seemed to be failing in that promise. She couldn’t tell if she were more angry or hurt or scared or all of the above. Regardless of which emotions in particular were triggering that reaction, by the time she tucked herself in the bathroom, her eyes were already filled with tears. 

Instead of fighting it, as she had no doubt that would only make things worse and prolong the inevitable, Natasha sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She buried her face against her arms and when she realized she was in danger of making audible sounds of distress, she bit into the flesh of her forearm to muffle the sounds as much as possible. There was going to be a mark that she would either have to cover up or explain – to Clint, if he hadn’t had another change of heart and didn’t leave, to Sam, who would naturally be concerned, and to Bucky, who she had no doubt would offer her some of the resources Dr. Jones had given him on self-harming behaviors. 

It was completely and utterly irrational, but when it came down to it, she wasn’t upset about the fact that she could have been shot. She wasn’t upset by the fact that she had to rip herself open and disclose her past, both to the hitman and to Clint. She wasn’t even particularly upset over the fact that her father had interrogated Clint and told him what choice to make.

She was the most upset over the fact that Clint had almost listened to her father and that he’d been willing to leave her because someone else dictated it. The rational part of her brain knew that was only part of the situation and recognized that Clint was also contending with the shock of almost dying, not to mention the shock of hearing about her past from both her father and herself. The irrational parts focused on the fact that he’d been willing to turn his back and leave and wondered whether or not his feelings for her were as strong as hers were for him.

The creak of a door – thankfully the door to the room and not the one to the bathroom – yanked her out of her thoughts and she startled, her hand automatically going for her purse. If nothing else, she still had a gun tucked in there and if she hadn’t heard Sam’s voice calling her name, she would have grabbed it, which just showed her how far gone she was. She knew better than to draw a weapon in a public building. Hell, she knew better than to consider firing a gun in a building filled with explosive elements like oxygen. 

Natasha thought about calling out, letting him know where she was, and immediately disregarded the idea. Having Sam see her like this was the last thing she wanted to deal with after the night she’d had. All she would need to do was nudge the door shut, flip the lock, and she’d at least have a few minutes to pull herself back together and wash her face before facing Sam. 

Before she had the chance, the bathroom door swung open and Sam stepped inside, the lines in his face deepening when his gaze fell on where she was sitting on the floor. She considered telling him to leave, that she wanted to be alone, because this was Sam and Sam would respect her wishes, but then he was kneeling beside her and she’d already forgotten how to speak. His fingers immediately went to her arm and she followed his eyes and startled when she saw the purple and blue flesh, pressed in with the indent of her teeth, and the slight trickles of blood that were winding their way down her arm. His fingers lightly brushed against the broken skin and she forced herself not to flinch and waited for the lecture to start.

Sam raised his eyes to her face, his brow furrowing all the more, and instead of the lecture she expected, he gently murmured her name. All at once she was crying again and he wrapped his arms around her and let her tears soak the front of his shirt. A minute later, she’d stopped caring about what he might think of her after this fiasco or hating herself for how many times she’d broken down over the past several hours.

As the tears finally subsided, she felt his fingers threading through her hair as he gently murmured words of comfort. Now calmer, Natasha determined that she needed to regain control of herself before anything else happened. She pulled away, pressing her back against the wall, and wiped at her eyes as though that might cover up the fact that she’d been crying. 

“Nat,” Sam said, and his voice was calming and far too much like something to be used on a frightened animal or someone about to break. 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s just been a long night.”

“It has. Which was why I was thinking that it might make sense for me to drive you back to the townhouse.” 

“No,” she said immediately, vehemently. “You know they admitted Clint for the night. I’m not leaving him after everything else that happened.” 

“I can stay with him. Look, Rogers and Barnes are at the townhouse.”

He didn’t need to expand on that comment; Natasha got the message. Steve and Bucky were there to take care of her because she was the person who needed to be taken care of now. The idea of that shouldn’t bother her as much as it did, particularly the idea of Bucky taking care of her. After all, she’d taken care of him more times than she could count. Then again, he had more than enough to deal with without dealing with her on top of it.

“I don’t want Clint to be alone,” she persisted. 

“Then I could give you the keys and let you take my car,” Sam offered. “If you’re up for driving, I mean.”

She had too much pride to say that she wasn’t capable of driving but she didn’t feel safe leaving Sam and Clint alone. She knew there was heightened security on the floor but still, so much could happen. The attack had been public and if one of Victor’s men wanted to finish the job, it wouldn’t exactly be hard for them to do. She needed to stay with him because, at the least, she knew what kind of danger was awaiting them. Swallowing her pride was the only option she had.

“I don’t think I’m up for driving,” she admitted. “The doctors gave me a Xanax earlier” – they had and she’d tongued it and spat it out later on – “and I’m pretty sure it’s still in my system.”

Sam studied her for a moment. “If you’re going to stay here, you should at least get some rest, Nat. Want me to see if the doctors will give you a sleeping pill or something?” 

There was no way she could argue against that suggestion, not after what she’d just said, and so she somewhat reluctantly said, “That might help.” 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” Sam pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he stood up.

He offered her his hand to help her up and she shook her head. “I think I’m going to take a few more minutes… just to pull myself back together.” 

He nodded. “Sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared out the door and she rested her head back against the wall and exhaled slowly. There was a part of her – a larger part of her than she wanted to admit – that was tempted to take a sleeping pill if Sam was able to get that for her. It would be nice to go away for a while and not have to think about anything.

But just in case something happened, she couldn’t afford to be asleep. Not only could Clint be hurt but it was evident that Sam wasn’t going anywhere, which meant that he could be caught in the crossfire as well.

It was going to be a long night.


	29. She's a Burning String and I'm Just the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is some movement towards resolution from recent events. Sam continues to be a saint, the twins show off a new hobby, Clint and Natasha take one step forward and two steps back, and Natasha finds some comfort in the form of Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the delay in this chapter. These past 2-3 weeks have been super rough on me. I got some life altering news and I've been struggling to recover from that and try to get my life back on track. Things are still in stasis at the moment but I'm hopeful that the next chapter will come more quickly than this one did. I have everything plotted out until the end and now that I'm somewhat back on my feet, hopefully I can keep moving forward with this fic.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Wanda jumped at the sound of her brother’s voice, nearly dropping the mixing bowl in her hands as she whirled to face him. He lounged in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, but he didn’t look angry, no more so than usual, at the least. 

“No,” she admitted. “I’m guessing you couldn’t either?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the room and surveyed the chaos surrounding her. “You could have woken me up, you know.” 

“I know. But you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you when you were finally getting some rest.”

Despite her words, she regretted her actions. When they were on the street, waking up to find her gone would have been a considerable reason to panic. Now that they were safe, she hadn’t thought twice about going downstairs, but judging by the look in her brother’s eyes, she had to assume that he’d reacted on instinct.

As a result, she added, “I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

“Don’t be,” he said quickly. “I’m just glad you’re okay. What the hell are you doing in here though?” 

Wanda surveyed the disaster she’d turned the kitchen into. The pot on the stove was filled with melted down chocolate that she’d found tucked in the back of the pantry. The bowl in her hands contained cupcake batter and she’d just been about to add some eggs and milk. There was flour across the counters and a batch of cheese and garlic biscuits already in the oven. As far as she was concerned, she was just getting started with her baking and chocolate-making for the night. 

“I couldn’t sleep so I just figured I’d distract myself,” she said with a shrug. “Natasha, Clint, and Sam are going to be hungry whenever they got back and I’ve been wanting to try out some of those recipes and… and it just seemed to make sense.”

She wondered, for a moment, how Pietro would respond. Would he chide her for wasting food? Would he point out that there was no way that all of the baked goods and chocolate she’d been making and preparing would likely go bad before it was eaten? Would he think her desire to cook for the others was silly and frivolous and hundreds of other things?

He did none of those things. Instead, he shoved his sleeves up his arms and asked, “What can I do to help?”

-~-

The completely irritating and grating sound of buzzing woke Bucky up, courtesy of Steve’s cell phone. That was the first thing he registered. The second, preceded of course by a groan and the sensation of Steve burying his head against Bucky’s chest while he desperately flailed towards the nightstand and somehow managed to hit the ‘snooze’ or ‘dismiss’ button because the horrendous beeping stopped, was that the townhouse smelled like a bakery or candy store – filled with sugar and chocolate and too many delicious scents for him to sort through them all. 

Despite the fact that he wasn’t fully aware or processing information with any degree of speed, he recognized that this development was unexpected. Clearly, there had been a lot of baking to lead to him being able to smell anything from upstairs. Natasha had been ridiculously careful and cautious of that, given his sensitivity to all sensory experiences when his migraines hit. 

His confusion increased as he reminded himself that Steve was still curled up against him. His mind put the pieces together to explain why he hadn’t expected Clint or Natasha – both were still at the hospital – which left only the twins as potential culprits. A glance at the clock revealed that it was around 7:00 AM, which either meant that the twins had woken up incredibly early or that they hadn’t slept yet despite the fact that he’d seen them walk upstairs before he went to bed himself the previous evening.

Steve made a few final sounds of discontent before pressing a trail of kisses along Bucky’s throat, and sleepily questioned, “Who’s been baking?”

“The twins, I’m guessing,” Bucky responded, and hugged Steve closer.

“Hmm.” Steve nuzzled at his throat. “How’re you holding up?”

Bucky threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Mostly exhausted but alright. I just didn’t sleep a whole hell of a lot last night. How about you? You’re the one with classes and work to get to, after all.” 

He groaned. “Aww hell. I’d been trying to forget about that. I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep myself but I’m okay. I probably shouldn’t stay in bed for too much longer…”

With that, he pressed a brief kiss to Bucky’s lips and smoothed his hair down before reluctantly disengaging himself and rolling to his feet. Bucky propped himself up one elbow while Steve tracked down his jeans and t-shirt from where they were puddled on the floor.

“What’s on the schedule today? Class or work first?” Bucky asked, trying to dredge up Steve’s typical week. It would have been easier to do that if he knew which day of the week it was. 

“I’ve got class at 9:00,” Steve said as he tugged his pants on. “Unless of course classes are cancelled due to the shooting at G.W. last night, although I’m guessing that’s not likely.”

With that, Steve reached for his phone and a moment later confirmed, “Yeah, I still got classes today. So I’ll be swinging by Shield first to change and get my bag from the apartment. You planning on coming with me or staying here?”

“Coming with you. I mean, the twins should be fine alone,” Bucky said slowly, then amended, “I think, at least. Natasha and Clint will have to come back at some point.”

He reached for his phone at that, checking to see if there were a message or a missed call despite the fact that either probably would have woken him up. As expected, there was nothing and he couldn’t help but feel all the more uneasy. It wasn’t like Natasha to be AWOL for this long. The lack of calling he could understand but nothing should have prevented her from sending him a text message, just to let him know the status at the hospital. 

“Y’know, if you want to stay here, I’ll be fine,” Steve pointed out. “I know this area. I’ve walked home from here more than once.”

“There’s a gunman on the loose.”

“That happened at night and it seems to have been an isolated incident.” Steve tucked his phone into his pocket. “It’s daylight now.” 

Despite his best efforts, Bucky’s mind was definitely on the catastrophizing side of things. While the rational part of his mind registered that there was likely no greater risk to Steve walking home alone today than there was any other day, the emotional part of his mind was definitely imagining scenes of Steve being trapped in an alley, of a gun being fired, of Steve being seriously injured or worse.

“I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Bucky said quietly. 

These were the times when Bucky hated his proclivity towards black-and-white thinking. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to accept Steve’s suggestion and be here when Natasha came back, to make certain that she was all right. On the other hand, after the events of the last several weeks, and particularly given that there was an active shooter still on the loose, the last thing he wanted was for Steve to be wandering around on his own.

Both seemed equally valid choices and there was no grey area that he could see. If he walked home with Steve, he wouldn’t be at the townhouse when Natasha returned and if he stayed here, Steve might wander into trouble on his own. There must have been something he was missing though. Something that was cluing him into the fact that there might just be a third option, some way of balancing between the two. 

 

“I’ll be careful, Buck, I promise,” Steve said, his voice softening as he moved closer and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ve got the brass knuckles you gave me and my cell phone. If it’ll make you feel better, I can stay on the line with you the entire time.” 

That wasn’t quite the grey area that Bucky had been searching for but it was close enough to ease his mind for the time being.

“Sounds good.” He bit back any final worries or concerns because he had no doubt Steve would not appreciate him continuing to fret. 

“Think we should see what the twins have been up to?”

Bucky nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly because that meant they were one step closer to Steve heading out. “Might as well see what they’ve gotten into.”

At least he could content himself with the fact that, if nothing else, the twins hadn’t managed to set the house on fire.

Not yet, at least.

-~-

The worst thing in the world, as far as Clint was concerned, wasn’t the stitched up hole in his arm or the cast on his ankle and all of the pain those entailed despite the heavy duty drug cocktail the nurses kept up through the night before switching to a double dosage of Vicodin in the morning after the IV had been removed. 

No, the worst thing was that, despite his drugged up state, he was fully aware of the tension radiating between himself and Natasha. Each time he’d woken up during the night – yanked out of sleep by a nightmare or a sound from the hallway or simply shaken awake mere moments after he’d finally fallen asleep by a nurse checking his vitals or administering another dosage of medication - he’d been surprised to find her curled up in the chair beside his bed. The position looked utterly uncomfortable and he had little doubt that she’d never been actually sleeping, but with an actually sleeping Sam on the other side of her, he hadn’t wanted to test that and risk waking him up in the process. 

He couldn’t understand why Natasha hadn’t left after the things he’d said and done. He knew he’d hurt her and beyond that, despite the fact that she hadn’t spent the night admitted to the hospital, he had to imagine the events of the previous evening had taken their toll on her as well.

And he’d absolutely hated himself for the fact that each time he woke up to find her right there, he’d felt relieved. Relieved that she hadn’t left him. Relieved that she was exhausting herself to stay with him. Relieved in every possible selfish way that he knew was awful because she wasn’t taking care of herself at all and for whatever reason, Sam hadn’t forced her to go home and get some rest. 

In retrospect, things were going substantially more smoothly when one or both of them were asleep – or, in Natasha’s case, at least feigning sleep – because since the doctor came in early on in the morning to tell him that he would be discharged, “waking up” Natasha who made a show of stretching and yawning, she’d barely said two words to him. There had been an attempt at pleasantness through murmured morning greetings but otherwise she’d kept things clinical and distant. 

Sam readily picked up on the discomfort – of course he did, he made his living reading people – and Clint could tell that he was unnerved but uncertain of how to approach the situation given that Clint was still in a hospital bed and Natasha was visibly exhausted. 

Clint was thankfully pulled out of his reverie when footsteps approached his room. A moment later, a nicely dressed woman – definitely not a nurse, given her attire, which was a shame since he was more than ready to get out of the hospital – entered the room. Clint had spent enough time in the emergency room and hospital over the years to recognize that this was someone from the financial department. Given that he was fairly certain he’d handed over his medical insurance – such as it was, given that he had the minimal requirements required by his university – the previous evening, he could only imagine that he was about to get some unpleasant news about how large a bill he’d accumulated.

The woman cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Barton?” as though there was any confusion about which one of them was the patient in question. He nodded automatically and steeled himself for whatever was coming next. “We wanted to let you know that your hospital bill has already been covered but there are some documents we need you to sign.”

Well, that was a surprise. His only reaction to that statement was an automatic response of assuring her that she must have made a mistake but he managed to swallow those words back, just as he hadn’t been able to swallow everything he’d said to Natasha the previous evening. 

Instead, he simply asked, “Did insurance pay for all of it?”

“Not exactly,” the woman informed him. “Mr. Stark contacted us this morning. We couldn’t confirm whether you were a patient here, of course. However, he made it clear that he would be willing to cover the costs. In order for us to be able to accept that offer, we will need a signed release from you, indicating that you are willing for Mr. Stark to have access to those bills.” 

As far as Clint was concerned, at this point, his morning couldn’t get any weirder: a mysterious benefactor in the form of Tony Stark; a girlfriend who almost was no longer a girlfriend whose family had ties to the Russian mafia; waking up in a hospital bed because there was a hit out on him and he didn’t know when to step back for his own good. 

Combine all of that with the fact that all of the drugs in his system left the world somewhat hazy, and there was a damn good reason this entire thing felt like a dream.

“Tony Stark,” he repeated, and the woman – he now could see that her nametag said “Susan” – nodded. “Holy shit. Uh, sure, yeah, I’d be happy to sign those releases. Whatever you need.”

The logical part of his mind noted that he probably didn’t want to be indebted to Tony Stark in any way, shape, or form. The stubborn part of his mind rebelled at even the idea of that. But the part of him that knew there was limited money in his bank account and he was already in enough debt from various other hospital trips and stays over the past several months told him that this was a way out of getting in even deeper.

He was already in deep enough with the Russian mafia. He didn’t need collection agencies coming after him too.

The releases were reviewed and signed, with Susan looking a bit star struck over the fact that Tony Stark himself had called and showed an interest in Clint’s case. Clint managed to suppress the urge to let her know that one Tony Stark had also kissed him once upon a time because he was reasonably certain the reminder of that wasn’t going to do anything to endear him to Natasha. 

Natasha studiously averted her gaze, although he’d seen her tense at the mention of Tony. Whatever reservations she might have weren’t enough for him to reconsider. He almost had too much pride to take it but he also had enough self-preservation to take an offer like that when he could.

Another awkward half an hour passed, with Clint pretending to sleep until the nurse came in with his discharge paperwork. A few more signatures later and he’d been officially released into Sam and Natasha’s care. The nurse told him to sit tight and that a wheelchair would be coming to bring him out to the car soon enough, which Clint absolutely hated on principle because he was more than capable of walking – or at least he would have been capable of limping if he’d been allowed to use crutches - but hospitals never seemed to let you walk on your own after you’d spent a night there. 

He was all the more panicked when Sam informed Clint and Natasha that he was heading out to get the car, in order to pick Clint up at the door. Clint was already struggling with the fact that for as irritated as he was with being wheeled out to the car, the discharge paperwork specified he would be using a wheelchair for the foreseeable future, at least until his left arm was healed enough for him to use crutches. Now he had to struggle with being alone with Natasha until the wheelchair arrived, with no hope of escaping prior to that. 

Still, what could he say to Sam to get him to stay? They needed the car and even though Sam knew that things were strained between Clint and Natasha, he didn’t have the details. From the moment Sam stepped out of the room, pausing long enough first to press a kiss to Clint’s lips and Natasha’s cheek, the silence in the room built slowly and steadily until it was practically a living entity. Clint couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Natasha,” he murmured, and her head snapped back in his direction, her eyes narrowed, a waiting challenge if he’d ever seen one. He considered keeping his mouth shut and not pressing things further but he couldn’t stand the discomfort and the distance. “Look, about last night…”

That was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed and she curtly said, “There’s nothing to talk about, Clint.”

“Tasha, those things I said… I shouldn’t have said them. I wouldn’t have said them-”

She cut him off. “You wouldn’t have said them if what exactly? If you hadn’t been shot? If you hadn’t been medicated? If you hadn’t let my father make decisions for you?”

“That’s not fair. All of that was a shock for me. I mean, literally I was _going into shock_ before I even spoke with your father.”

“I can’t do this now, Clint,” she said, and her voice broke the slightest bit. His self-loathing increased all the more as he realized he couldn’t recall the last time he saw Natasha look even half this vulnerable.

That wasn’t quite true, now that he thought on it. The last time he’d seen her look like this was when she’d received the call about Bucky’s injury. He’d seen that look on her face when she answered the phone. He’d heard that break in her voice the few times she spoke to him during the long car ride to New York. And he’d seen it again after that horrible event with Bucky last winter that she still wouldn’t talk to Clint about.

Now he’d caused that look, through the situation that he dragged her into and through his actions and choices the previous evening.

He just hoped that he hadn’t irreparably damaged their relationship, despite the fact that a large part of him was still convinced that she would be better off if he had. 

All he could do for the moment was respect her wishes and give her the space she needed. He lapsed into silence, focusing on tying his shoes as best he could with one hand; the drugs in his system weren’t exactly helping with his coordination. After a few moments of watching him struggle, Natasha reached over to help. Before she could draw back, he covered her hand with his own and offered a quick squeeze and was comforted the slightest bit by the fact that she responded with a squeeze of her own.

While that moment might have given him an opening to try to apologize once again, before he could speak, his wheelchair arrived and he was spared the effort of trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t alienate Natasha further. She straightened up beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder for an instant and then her fingers barely brushed through his hair, all clear signs that while the previous evening’s fight was not forgotten, things were moving towards forgiveness.

He considered that the most he could have asked for. Despite the fact that he was gearing up for a couple weeks maneuvering around in a wheelchair, he left the hospital feeling more hopeful than he would have expected.

-~-

Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she felt this exhausted. Keeping her eyes open was proving difficult; thank God Sam had refused to let her drive back to the townhouse. She doubted she could have navigated the streets without missing a stop sign or a red light and most likely crashing the car. At the least, she wasn’t cooped up in the backseat with Clint. Despite the fact that her anger towards him had decreased, she didn’t think either of them was ready for any further interaction until he was less medicated and she was much calmer. Hopefully Sam would be able to stay long enough to at least get Clint settled, which would give her enough time to collect herself and maybe even manage a couple hours of sleep.

Despite the fact that she was grateful to be away from the hospital, she doubted she was prepared for facing the twins and Bucky. The twins knew just enough to ask the questions she didn’t want to answer. Bucky would be worried and, particularly in light of recent events, she was reluctant to disclose anything he didn’t already know, which severely limited the information she could provide him.

She also had no doubt that he would be furious with her for not keeping in contact the previous evening. In retrospect, she should have at least texted him, but by the time she’d thought of doing that, she’d already been too exhausted to respond to the inevitable questions and discussions they would need to have. 

There were enough people in danger already. She wasn’t about to provide information to anyone not currently in the know and drag them into this mess anymore than they were already incidentally involved. 

“Nat?” Sam’s voice startled her, though not as much as his hand coming to rest on her shoulder did.

She blinked, surprised to find that they were sitting outside her townhouse and the engine of the car was no longer going. Sam looked concerned, just as he had since finding her in the bathroom the previous evening, and she was more concerned by her lack of emotional response than anything else. 

“Sorry,” she said automatically. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I guess it caught up with me.” 

“The sleeping pill wasn’t enough?” 

She did her best to look as earnest as possible. “I guess it had nothing on the discomfort from sleeping in those chairs. Even though I was exhausted, I kept tossing and turning.” Before Sam could say anything, she quickly added, “I’ll get some rest soon, Sam. I promise. Do you need any help getting Clint inside?”

“If you can get the chair, I can get Clint,” Sam assured her. “Probably makes sense just to carry him either rather than trying to navigate the front steps with a wheelchair. After all, Clint’s got nothing on Barnes and I’ve been able to haul his ass around more than once.”

“Are you calling me scrawny?” Clint questioned from the backseat and Natasha tried to pretend that the sound of his voice didn’t cause a stabbing pain through her chest.

“I’m just saying you’re easy to throw over my shoulder, Barton,” Sam said easily. 

Natasha took the opportunity to slip out of the passenger’s side and waited for Sam to pop the trunk before taking out the wheelchair. Hoping that Sam wouldn’t consider it suspicious, she headed up the steps under the guise of unlocking and opening the door. She waited to see how Sam navigated the steps with Clint, just in case she needed to call in reinforcements, and was relieved to see that true to his word, Sam had no difficulties maneuvering Clint out of the car and getting him into the house. 

She didn’t even notice the aroma in the house until she’d stepped inside and shut and locked the door behind her, triple checking the deadbolt and chain before stepping back. The house smelled closer to a bakery than a place of residence should. Though there was nothing inherently ominous about that, Natasha found herself becoming increasingly wary as she stepped into the kitchen. 

The place was an absolute disaster and that completely yanked her attention away from Sam, who was attempting to get Clint settled in the wheelchair. The disaster comprised of dirty dishes stacked up in the sink, and the trashcan in the corner overflowing with containers. In the midst of a dusting of either powdered sugar or flour on the cutting board, Koschei rolled around on his back, his fur coated in the stuff. That didn’t even address Lucky, who was licking something off of the floor that Natasha had a feeling the dog probably shouldn’t be eating.

But, slightly more organized on the counter, were several plates holding what seemed to be lemon bars, something made wholly out of several kinds of chocolate, blueberry muffins, biscuits, and coffee cake. Standing behind those plates was Wanda, looking rather anxious and very much as though she hadn’t slept either, and several steps behind her, Pietro. The two appeared to have been yanked away from the television due to their arrival, given that she could still see the screen glowing in the background, paused on what seemed to be one of the many Disney movies she kept around because they were mostly free of potential triggers for Bucky and now, in retrospect, her two wards. 

Given how anxious Wanda looked, Natasha did her best to act as though this situation were as normal as possible.

“Looks like you two did some cooking.” She inspected the various treats laid out on the counter and then picked up Koschei and gently dusted him off.

Wanda nodded nervously. “We figured that you guys would be hungry when you came back. I hope that was okay…” 

“That’s fine,” Natasha said quickly, and set Koschei down on the floor. “We appreciate it.”

She was spared saying anything further when Sam wheeled Clint in and Clint promptly blurted out, “Holy shit, am I hallucinating?”

“If you mean, is there a breakfast buffet set up in here, then no, you’re not hallucinating,” Sam said with a grin.

Lucky, meanwhile, had stopped eating the remnants of food decorating the floor and had bounded over to Clint and rested her head in his lap. Natasha tried not to notice how his eyes lit up as he scratched the top of her head and petted her behind the ears because somehow still everything he did just hurt: even after telling her that he didn’t want to break up, even after their slight reconciliation that morning. She knew everything wasn’t okay and she had no idea how bad things still might get. 

A rational person would probably be more concerned with the Russian mob than her love life. Clearly she wasn’t a rational person.

“You two do this on your own or did Steve and Bucky help?” Sam asked. 

“We did it,” Pietro said, a bit defensively. “We know how to cook.”

“I have no doubt,” Sam said, his calm presence defusing the developing tension. “This looks great. Where’d you learn to do this kind of stuff?”

Wanda glanced back at her brother before looking back to Sam. “We have a lot of time on our hands and recently we’ve been watching some of those cooking shows. I just figured we could try out some of the recipes we’d heard about.”

Natasha was spared figuring out if she was coherent enough to contribute to this conversation when there were footsteps heading down the stairs and two moments later, Bucky entered the room. He froze for an instant upon seeing her, and she could see him holding himself back from running to her. In that moment she could not have possibly loved him more. After all this time, he still knew her better than anyone and when to keep his distance and respect her boundaries and let her make the first move. 

She couldn’t help herself. As much as she wanted to remain composed and in control, before she could think through her actions, she’d crossed the several steps between them and flung herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly, just as he always had, and everything about him was familiar and safe and uncomplicated – although the latter was likely a grievous misconception brought on by remembering the good times and none of the bad, given that she knew exactly how complicated he could be at his worst. She remained composed enough that no tears fell – she’d likely cried herself out the previous evening – but she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her face against his chest and letting him shield her from the world, just for a few more moments.

He smoothed her hair back and let a few moments of silence go by before softly saying, “Hey, Nat. How’re you holding up?” 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, automatically, despite the fact that she knew he wouldn’t believe a single word. “I’m exhausted though. I didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“I’m pretty tired, too,” she heard Clint say, most likely to the twins or to Sam, because she wasn’t about to turn her head to look over and tune into that conversation. “Think you could get me upstairs, Sam?” 

“I think I could manage,” Sam said. “You got Natasha for the time being, Barnes?”

She refused to be resentful over the fact that the boys were treating her like a piece of broken property to be passed from one to another. 

“I can keep an eye on her,” Bucky responded. “Let me know if you need any help with Clint.” 

Natasha tightened her fingers around the two handfuls of fabric from Bucky’s shirt she’d already been grasping; the only clear sign she was willing to give that she didn’t want him going anywhere. It was completely selfish but Clint already had Sam and she wasn’t ready to be alone, not yet.

The twins offered to bring up food and fresh coffee for Sam and Clint, both of whom accepted, and within a few moments, the four of them headed upstairs and it was just Natasha and Bucky standing in the kitchen.

She took a step back and tried to come up with some sort of explanation for why she hadn’t called him or texted him or done anything to let him know that she was still breathing the previous evening. He spared her from that, at least for a moment, by speaking first.

“Sorry I wasn’t around right when you guys came back. Steve went into work and still had classes today, so he’s been calling me every time he has to walk around the city between campus and Shield. It probably sounds stupid but after everything that’s happened recently and especially after what happened last night, it just eases my mind to talk to him until I know he’s somewhere safe.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text you last night. I wasn’t in a good place. I know that wasn’t fair to you and I’m sure it worried you. Between Clint getting shot and going to the hospital and my father showing up and Sam making sure I took a sleeping pill… I guess I just lost track of everything.” 

His brow furrowed but he merely said, “It’s okay. I understand how that could happen. What made your father show up? That sounds pretty serious.”

“I figured he’d hear about the shooting and the last thing I wanted was for him to hear about it from someone else and not from me. You know how protective he is of me. If he heard that I was at the scene of a shooting and I hadn’t already called to tell him what had happened, he’d flip out.” 

She felt guilty lying to him and using the fact that she’d known him – and he’d known her father – for so many years as a way of making a feasible story to explain everything that had happened the previous evening. 

To his credit, Bucky didn’t question the story or the fact that she’d managed to contact her father and not him. He just accepted the words and nodded, and somehow that was almost worse than if he’d asked a few questions or shown some anger over being left in the dark and worrying all last night.

Instead, he asked, “What do you need right now?”

That wasn’t a question she was prepared to answer. A bottle of vodka sounded great but probably wasn’t a particularly brilliant idea. A couple of Bucky’s prescribed tranquilizers or sleeping pills also sounded pretty amazing but even in the safety of her own home, she didn’t feel completely comfortable being in a drugged state. 

She finally settled on saying, “To sleep. I couldn’t sleep last night, even with the drugs they gave me.” 

“Luckily I’ve got a spare bed that I’m not using right now and some pretty awesome blackout curtains,” he said. “I also have sleeping pills and Xanax that I probably shouldn’t be sharing but if you need any…”

“No sleeping pills,” she said quickly. “But… Xanax… might be nice.” 

That, at least, wouldn’t make waking difficult. It would lower her reflexes but not sleeping would likely do the same, so she might as well bite the bullet, so to speak, and get herself back on track. Everything would be much more manageable if she weren’t also contending with exhaustion. 

“That I can do,” he said, nodding. “You hungry or would you prefer to sleep first, eat later?”

“Definitely sleep first. I’m still not particularly hungry.”

Her gratitude increased when he didn’t push food on her. Then again, if anyone knew how self-care was often a slow process that required multiple steps, it would be Bucky. He’d focus on what she was ready and capable of doing now and do what he could to build on that as things progressed. With his arm around her shoulders, she let him lead her up the stairs to his room. A part of her felt a bit uncomfortable – with his relationship with Steve, she hadn’t spent time with him in such an automatically intimate setting in months, and yet it was easy for her to fall right back into old patterns – but a larger part of her felt like she was coming home. 

She shrugged off the sweatshirt, leaving the leggings and t-shirt she’d replaced her torn and bloodied dress with once Sam brought them to her at the hospital. Then she settled in Bucky’s bed. Even with his infrequent stays at the townhouse over the past several months, the sheets still smelled like him and his room still smelled like lavender. Already her muscles were relaxing and she hadn’t even taken the pill Bucky was shaking from the bottle yet.

Natasha hesitated for only a moment before swallowing down the pill. If something happened, there was no one more qualified than Bucky to manage the situation, and she had no doubt that he would wake her up if necessary. Instead, she just focused on the comforting feeling of his arm draping over her as she leaned back against him. His metal fingers threaded carefully through her hair and at some point, either because of the fast effects of the tranquilizers or the soothing setting, the last of the tension left her body.

That was the only explanation for why she suddenly found herself blurting out, “My father wants Clint to break up with me.”

“He does?” Bucky didn’t sound particularly shocked. “That’s a pretty extreme reaction given that it doesn’t sound like you were hurt last night…”

There was a questioning note in his voice and she quickly responded. “No, not at all. But you know how my father is. He worries about me and because Clint texted me to ask for my help and I ended up being at the scene of a shooting, even though I never saw the gunman, my father believes Clint placed me in harms way.” 

“How did Clint respond to that?” Bucky asked.

“He considered it. He might still be considering it, I don’t know. I told him that it wasn’t my father’s choice but he feels guilty for bringing me to the library when there was an active shooter, even though when he texted me, he didn’t realize the danger he was in.”

Instead of offering meaningless assurances that everything would be fine, Bucky merely murmured, “I’m sorry” and kissed the top of her head.

Somehow that brought tears to her eyes. She almost wished he had given her false words of comfort because then at least she would have been angry instead of feeling like she was breaking all over again. She covered the hand lightly resting on her stomach with her own, interlacing her fingers with his, and forced herself to pull up every mindfulness technique she’d ever walked him through.

Somewhere in the midst of focusing on the sensation of the sheets against her skin, Bucky’s chest rising and falling against her back and his warm breath against the back of her neck, and the scent of lavender in the air, her thoughts turned hazy and unfocused and she stopped fighting to keep her eyes open.

Maybe things would be better when she woke up.


	30. Have You No Idea That You're In Deep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam reaches the limits of his patience, Natasha engages in some self-destructive behaviors, Clint talks backstory with Natasha, Pietro gets his first tattoo, and Bucky tries to balance taking care of the others in addition to taking care of himself.
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for descriptions of child abuse, alcohol use, and tattooing.

“You sure coffee is the answer?” Bucky asked.

Natasha ignored him in favor of pouring herself another cup. Already, her hands were shaking; almost imperceptibly, but enough that a few drops ended up on the counter instead of in Clint’s mug, which she had commandeered for the time being. Pretending she hadn’t heard Bucky’s words was better than reflecting on the mere three hours of sleep she’d managed and the fact that she still felt groggy from the drugs in her system.

“I’m serious, Nat,” he pressed. She knew there was no chance of pretending this conversation wasn’t happening, especially when he added, “You haven’t slept enough to make up for a traumatic experience and a sleepless night spent in the hospital.”

“I’m fine, James.”

And she was, at least in comparison to how she’d been doing. She’d gotten some sleep. She felt less cracked and broken from exhaustion. Whether or not the Xanax still remained in her system, she felt calmer. Calm enough to handle the conversations she needed to have and the lies she needed to tell to keep everyone safe.

“You keep saying that,” he said, and the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t dropping the matter that easily. “I know you’re doing better – I can see that you’re doing better – but that doesn’t mean you’re fine. No one’s fine after going through something like this.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, as though conceding his point. “I just meant that I was feeling better. You of all people know the curative power of drugs, a few hours of sleep, and a hot shower.”

There wasn’t a whole lot in there that he could argue about. Instead, he sighed. “Still, if you’re tired enough to need a jump start of caffeine, you could probably stand to get a bit more sleep.”

“And have more nightmares?” she countered. “I don’t think so.”

That was enough for him to drop the subject for the time being. After all, he’d been the one right there beside her, holding her against him as she sobbed against his chest, and telling her to breathe and promising that Clint was safe and relatively whole. All the while, she’d tried to get the image of dream-Clint’s head exploding into splinters of skull and gore out of her mind.

Still, for all the times she’d done the same for Bucky, she probably shouldn’t feel as guilty and ashamed as she did. But then, her role for the past year had been to take care of him. Having him take care of her made her feel like a failure. He had enough on his shoulders already without having to take care of her on top of taking care of himself – already a difficult enough job – and Steve. The last thing she needed was to accidentally push him over the edge. Not again. 

Granted, it hadn’t been her fault the last time. With finals and the holidays, she hadn’t been there for him as much as she should – and with the upcoming anniversary of _that_ , it was no wonder that she wasn’t able to get those thoughts in her head – but she hadn’t actively done anything to put more stress or strain on him than he was already dealing with.

Not that time, at least.

Which was why she simply responded by quietly saying, “I feel like keeping myself occupied and distracted is what I need right now. Thinking too much isn’t helping and, besides, I know that Sam can’t stay here forever, which means I need to check on Clint and see how he’s doing. Plus I should also check on the twins to make sure they’re okay after everything.” 

“You sure you don’t need me to stay?” he asked once again. “Steve can grab a cab or take the metro or something.”

“You’re barely going to be gone an hour, James. I can handle things here. Like I said, I think that would be good for me. I can distract myself and focus on other things.”

“In that case, after I pick up Steve, I’ll handle dinner. As long as you’re sure…”

“Things will be fine here,” she assured him. “Grab Steve, maybe stop by one of the places that makes halfway decent pizza and grab a couple to go.”

Truth be told, she didn’t particularly want Bucky wandering the streets alone given everything. She would have given him her keys and told him to borrow her car but the DMV staunchly refused to reinstate his license given his far too frequent blackouts. He’d have Steve with him on the way back, though. She felt reasonably certain no one had tied her to this location, at least not yet, which meant there would be no reason for anyone to go after him.

He seemed uneasy. “Alright, just take care of yourself, Nat.” He pulled her into a hug before heading for the door. 

Natasha could still feel the exact spot where his lips brushed her cheek as the door shut and locked behind him. Naturally, she followed after to double-check that all of the locks were secure and that all of the blinds on the downstairs windows had been properly secured.

Then she allowed herself enough time to drain the second cup of coffee, regretting her decision the slightest bit when she felt her heart lurch in her chest and, immediately following, the beat turn from steady to far too rapid and uneven for her liking. Reminding herself that this physical reaction was only from the coffee and not a sign or reason to become anxious only did so much. Her body was on edge and wired and there was too much truth to the fact that there were some damn good reasons to be afraid right now. Still, she couldn’t put off talking to the other four occupants of the townhouse any longer.

She went to the twins’ room first and knocked on the door. Neither one had been downstairs when she woke up – which was particularly strange since typically they chose to come downstairs when the rooms were clear and empty – but she guessed they were napping. While there was the definite possibility of not waking them up, there were conversations they needed to have and now. Plus, speaking with them first admittedly gave her the excuse of waiting to talk to Clint and Sam for that much longer.

When the door failed to open and there were no sounds from inside, she prepared to knock again. Before she could bring her fist down a second time, the door opened, revealing Pietro, who looked half-asleep and that much more pissed off than usual. 

His expression softened the slightest bit when he saw that it was her, but he definitely sounded more than a bit resentful as he all but growled, “What?”

Before Natasha could respond, Wanda – who sounded fairly groggy herself – chided, “Pietro, be nice.”

“I wanted to talk to you both about what happened last night,” she said, once Pietro stopped insisting that he was being nice. “May I come inside?”

Pietro obligingly stepped out of the doorway and she came in, shutting the door behind her. She would be having her own conversation with Sam shortly; there was no reason for him to be clued into the situation or overhear any information that wasn’t pertinent for him at this exact moment. 

Between last night and now, she’d reflected on how to handle the situation and how much everyone needed to know. The answer she’d settled on in the end was, “Enough to keep them safe.”

“Are you actually going to tell us the truth about what happened last night?” Pietro asked, as though reading her mind.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, beside his sister, who was propped up on her elbows, and both looked at Natasha expectantly and warily. Before Natasha could speak, there was a raspy meow from the other side of Wanda and Koschei peaked his head up before scrambling across the twins and hopping down to the floor to curl himself around Natasha’s ankles.

“I’m going to tell you some of it,” she said. “I won’t promise to tell you all of it. I’ll tell you what you need to know and that is that your instincts are likely correct – last night was related to Clint’s involvement with the mob.” She saw both twins tense and hurried to add, “But it had nothing to do with you, so please don’t blame yourselves. Clint got in over his head long before you came into the picture. The reason I’m telling you isn’t because you’re at fault in any way, it’s simply because you will need to be more careful in the coming weeks. You may notice when you go downstairs that all of the blinds have been drawn and they are to remain closed at all times. There is no going out alone, not that you were doing that to begin with.”

“Will we still be allowed out at all?” Pietro immediately asked. “Like, can we still go back to Shield?”

“You can, yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

That had been one of the hardest decisions to make. Safety needed to be balanced with some autonomy for the twins and that meant finding a way for them to still have a life while making certain no harm came to them. Even though they were 18 and no one was legally their guardian, Natasha still felt responsible for them and thus far, they had seemed to be fine with her level of security. 

“There will be the same protocol as before,” she continued. “I will drive you to Shield in the morning – Clint may help out as well once he’s capable of moving around again – and you will be dropped off in front of the shop and go straight inside. When you are out in the open, you will wear a hat or hoodie and preferably keep sunglasses on, just in case. Everything we can do to make you the least recognizable as possible is crucial at this point.”

Both of the twins visibly relaxed, particularly Pietro, who Natasha was reasonably certain, had been mostly concerned with the possibility of not seeing Darcy again.

Unsurprisingly, his only verbal acknowledgement of his reason for wanting to go back to Shield was to state, “Good, ‘cause Steve’s s’posed to be doing my tattoo tomorrow.” 

Wanda just gave him a knowing, unconvinced look, and then turned her full attention to Natasha. “Is Clint going to be alright? How much trouble is he in? Are you sure it’s not our fault?”

Natasha started with the final question first because it was the easiest to answer. “I’m positive it’s not your fault. As for whether he’ll be all right, there’s no reason to think that he won’t be fine. The next few weeks aren’t going to be particularly pleasant but he should be back on his feet in no time. He is in a lot of trouble though. He’s got a lot of people gunning for him and he’s made some dangerous enemies. But we’re trying to figure out a way to get through this without anything else happening to him or anyone else.”

“And you’re sure we’re not causing more problems?” Pietro asked. “I mean, if you’re gonna kick us out, we’d like to get a head start.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Natasha said. “I would have thought you knew that by now. Like I said, this isn’t your fault. You’re doing the best you can with the situation that you’re in and everyone involved has made their own choices. Trust me when I say that you’re one small part of the mess that Clint’s currently stuck in. Even if protecting you had added to it, I wouldn’t be asking you to leave. After everything you two have been through, we’re more than happy to give you a safe place to stay.”

The twins exchanged a look before Pietro somewhat grudgingly said, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Natasha responded. “I should probably check on Clint and I know I interrupted the two of you catching up on sleep but let me know if there’s anything you need.”

She wished more protests had been offered but the twins had merely responded with, “We will” and given her no reason to stay and put off this conversation for any longer. Straightening her shoulders, she walked to her room and knocked on the door before entering. Despite the dim light, she could see a lump that she was reasonably certain was Clint curled up in the bed, with Lucky beside him. Sam sat on the other side and when Natasha came into the room, he straightened up a bit more and gave her a questioning look.

Given that Clint hadn’t responded, she had to either assume that he was sleeping, he had taken his hearing aids out, or some combination thereof. Regardless, she didn’t want to disturb him, and so she simply gestured for Sam to follow her out into the hallway. In the seconds that followed, she reflected on her decision once more before silently leading Sam to Bucky’s currently empty room. 

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Sam inquired, “What’s going on here, Nat?”

There was no point in prolonging the inevitable by making some sort of introductory statement to tie everything together and, as a result, she simply said, “Last night’s attack on Clint wasn’t random. It was targeted and specific. I can’t tell you everything, in part because it’s not my place since the story isn’t all mine, but also because I’m not willing to put you in unnecessary danger. Still, I think you have a right to know.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Sam said, and the cold tone that entered his voice did nothing to ease Natasha’s anxiety about having this conversation.

“I can understand why you’re angry,” she murmured. “There’s a lot that Clint and myself haven’t been telling you about this situation. I’m telling you now because I want you to be able to make an educated choice about whether you want to stay with us.”

The fact that he said nothing in response to that increased her anxiety all the more and may have contributed to why she blurted out, “It has to do with the Russian mob.” She never spoke without thoroughly thinking through her words but Sam’s reaction to all of this, mixed in with Clint’s attempt to break up with her the previous evening had left her far too ragged to be careful and controlled in what she was saying.

“The Russian mob,” Sam echoed, looking a bit skeptical. “Nat, you can come up with something better than that.”

“I’m not lying to you,” she said, stung that he would think she would make something like this up. “I can’t get into all of the specifics but that’s who went after Clint last night and both of us… both of us have connections there. This wasn’t the first time they’ve gone after Clint and it probably won’t be the last. I just… I wanted you to know the mess we’re stuck in. Being with us isn’t necessarily safe and while I don’t want you to go, I want you to make the choice with enough information to know the choice you’re making.”

Sam, who’d crossed his arms over his chest at some point during the conversation, stared at her for a long moment before saying, “I hadn’t wanted to have this discussion now but I guess it’s as good a time as any.”

Natasha had no doubt where things were going from here but she didn’t stop him as he continued. “For awhile now, I’ve noticed the imbalance in the relationship. I knew there would be a bit of one because you and Barton were already a thing before I came into the picture but I cared enough about both of you to think it might work. Still, I could feel the distance and disconnect and it’s just grown stronger and stronger over the past few months. This isn’t a three-way relationship, Nat, this is me joining a prior relationship with you and him and both of you are keeping me out of the loop. I thought it would change but it clearly hasn’t and I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Each word stung all the more, primarily because she knew it was true. They’d welcomed Sam with open arms in certain ways but particularly with the entire mess that Clint was in, not to mention her more recent involvement in it, Sam had been kept on the outside. The fact that it was for his own safety didn’t matter; it created an entirely different relationship dynamic for him. 

She also knew that she had a choice. After everything she’d already told him, she could take things a step further and tell him about her parents, tell him everything her father told Clint the previous evening, and this time, instead of her father disclosing her life story, she could make the choice herself. That wouldn’t be everything but maybe, just maybe, Sam would feel a bit less left out.

And Sam would also be in that much more danger. With the information he knew now, there wasn’t enough to get him into trouble but knowing who her parents were, who she was, that was the type of information that was dangerous for him to have. 

Making the decision to keep her mouth shut about that and merely say, “I understand” was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, especially when she followed it up with, “I’m sorry” and Sam responded with a bitter, brittle laugh.

“I know you are,” he said, and the level of disappointment in his voice hurt all the more. He exhaled slowly, raggedly, and ran his fingers through his hair before saying, “Look, I need some time to think about everything.”

“I understand,” she repeated, wondering when her vocabulary got so limited. 

She’d never expected Sam to leave, at least not for these reasons. To avoid danger, to be out of the crosshairs, those were reasons that had definitely crossed her mind. Clint almost left because he knew too much, now Sam was leaving because he knew too little, and in both cases it was entirely her fault.

“If you want to head home, I can handle things here,” she continued. “James will be back soon enough, along with Steve, if I need any backup, but for now Clint’s stable and the twins are okay. I want you to have the time and space to think and make the best decision for yourself.”

Sam hesitated for an instant before asking, “Are you sure?” and she nodded. 

The fact that he looked relieved didn’t particularly make her feel any better but then his arms were around her one last time, hugging her tightly, and his lips brushed her cheek as he murmured, “Take care of yourself, Nat. I’ll be in touch.”

She walked him to the door, numbly promising Sam that she would tell Clint – who Sam didn’t want to disturb while sleeping– what had happened. He kissed her – a brief, almost chaste kiss that lacked the emotion she was used to feeling from him – before stepping outside. She carefully and methodically locked the door behind him.

Then she walked straight to the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass, and with the same care she’d reserved for double-checking the locks, she poured herself a shot. She barely felt the burn as she knocked it back. She repeated the process again and again, each movement routine and methodical, and somewhere around the fourth or fifth one, she stopped counting.

-~-

Clint wasn’t entirely certain whether it was the door to the room opening, Lucky whining – not that he could hear that without his hearing aids in, but he could feel the tension in her body and the bed vibrating the slightest bit beneath her - or some sixth sense that things were wrong that woke him up. All he knew was that thankfully the door was cracked open, which provided enough light to help him reorient to where he was – Natasha’s bed where he was recovering from almost dying- and he was grateful for that since with all of the painkillers in his system and no caffeine, his mind wasn’t piecing things together as well as usual.

He slowly propped himself up on his uninjured arm to check on Lucky before focusing on the fact that there was a figure standing in the doorway. His heart all but leapt into his chest and he tried to figure out if what he’d assumed was whining from Lucky was actually growling and he was on the verge of being murdered, but then his eyes focused a bit more clearly and he realized that it was Natasha.

The second thing he registered was the bottle of vodka in her hand and the fact that she was swaying the slightest bit on her feet, which officially meant she was drunker than he’d ever seen her before in his life. 

That meant he should probably put his hearing aids in, since sign language was probably out and he needed to know what was going on. He struggled to do so without the use of his left arm and he was all the more alarmed that by the time he could properly hear, she’d remained in the doorway and another inch of the alcohol in the bottle had been consumed. 

“Natasha?” he asked uncertainly, propping himself up once more. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Sam left,” she said, taking another long sip before coming over to the bed and sitting down on the edge beside him, careful not to disturb Lucky in the process. “He’s gone. Looks like everything’s just falling apart, huh?”

“What do you mean ‘Sam left’?” Clint echoed. “He was just here… like… a few minutes ago, right?”

“Give or take half an hour,” Natasha said. “You were sleeping and I thought I should talk to him about everything. Not everything, of course, and that was the problem. I thought he deserved to know enough to determine whether or not he wanted to stay with us. But I only gave him the barest details and that wasn’t enough for him, which I totally understand. He knows that the two of us have been sharing information with one another and he’s on the outside and so he left. He just fucking left, Clint, and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to fuck everything up.”

“Nat, how much’ve you had to drink?” he asked, because it was easier than addressing the rest of the mess. 

“A fifth of vodka, give or take.” She took another sip before finally capping the bottle and placing it on the ground. “I gave up self-destructive tendencies a long time ago but you’d never know it from looking at me right now.”

“Shit, we need to get you some water.” He sat up enough to wrap his good arm around her. 

Thankfully, she responded by leaning into him and resting her head against his shoulder, rather than pulling away as he’d feared for half a moment. He kept his arm around her as he carefully guided her into bed and got her settled. There was a limit to what he could do with his injured arm but he could at least keep her comfortable while he tried to figure out if anyone else was in the house that might be able to help get Natasha water and something to eat, in the hopes of sobering her up.

“I thought you were getting me some water,” she murmured as she curled against his side, her fingers grasping ahold of the fabric of his shirt.

“The bottle on the nightstand is all yours,” he responded, his fingers immediately moving to thread through her hair. “I’d offer to grab you more if I were physically capable of walking but that’s not exactly in the cards right now.”

“Mm. That’s fine. I don’t particularly want to sober up right now. I was more interested in not feeling anything for awhile.”

Given her response, he focused on settling her down and combing his fingers through her hair. There wasn’t a whole lot else to say at this point, after all. He’d done enough damage to her the previous evening. Now Sam had left and clearly Natasha wasn’t coping with any of this mess particularly well.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he finally said, partially to break the silence, partially because he wanted her to know that he wasn’t going to leave her. “Alright, Nat? Regardless of what I said last night… I’m not gonna do that to you. I love you too much to do that.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m shitfaced.”

“I wouldn’t just say something like that,” he said, a bit of heat entering his voice. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m a man of my word.” 

She didn’t come up with an argument for that, which he supposed was a good enough apology for the time being, and silence reigned for a few more moments before Natasha spoke – not to address what she’d just said to him or his response, but to say something that he feared was only due to her level of intoxication.

“I’m going to tell Sam everything. Not about you, of course,” she quickly added. “That’s not my place and if you want to tell him, that’s your choice. But I want him to know what you found out about me last night. I want him to know everything you do because then he can make his own decision. If he wants to stay after that, he can, and if he wants to leave, at least I haven’t pushed him away with all of my secrecy. I keep running over and over the situation in my mind and I don’t think he’ll be in any more danger if he knows the truth than if he doesn’t.”

“Alright,” Clint responded. 

There was no point in arguing with her. If she still felt that this was the right choice to make in the morning when she didn’t have vodka flowing through her bloodstream – though he supposed Russians always had vodka in their blood - it was her choice to make. Whether he would make the same choice was debatable but, then, the situation was different. Telling Sam the truth meant there was one more opportunity to have his cover blown. He hadn’t even told Natasha’s father when that might have decreased his anger towards Clint the previous evening.

There was silence once more before Natasha inquired, “How’re you feeling?”

He tried not to feel resentful of the fact that she’d only just seemed to remember the state he was in. After all, she was used to him being broken in some way, shape, or form and there were plenty of other worries on her mind besides his current condition. Furthermore, he was stable for the moment.

“Tired. Sore. I’ve pretty much been sleeping since we got back here. I’m probably in need of another round of painkillers since it’s been a couple hours. But I’ll live. At this point, it’s more of a nuisance and frustration than anything.”

“I can grab a couple pills,” she offered, rolling out of his grip and sitting up.

Clint didn’t even have the chance to encourage her to move a bit more slowly given the amount of alcohol she’d consumed before he heard Natasha gagging and was ridiculously grateful that Sam had left the trashcan beside the bed in case Clint had reacted poorly to any of the medications he was on. He struggled into a sitting position and pulled Natasha’s hair back from her face and tried to rub her back without ripping all of the stitches out of his left arm.

“I thought you Russians could hold your liquor.”

“Fuck off,” she responded, inbetween retching. 

He ignored her and focused on rubbing her back and smoothing back her hair until he could carefully get her settled back in bed once more. He paused long enough to swallow down another two painkillers and then handed Natasha his bottle of water and watched as she managed to drain half of it.

“Shit, Nat, you’re drunk and I’m incapable of movement,” Clint said with a sigh, as he tried to make himself comfortable beside her. “This is not a good combination.”

“James will be back soon,” Natasha said miserably. “He went to pick up Steve and said he’d bring food with him when he returned. Shit, I shouldn’t have gotten drunk. He’s got enough to deal with without all of this. He’s going to exhaust himself.”

“He can handle it. I’ll do what I can to keep the pressure off of him.”

“Clint, I don’t exactly want you running yourself down either,” Natasha said, sounding exasperated. “I keep telling you that I care about you but you keep not grasping it. I don’t know how else to convey that to you.”

“Nothing against you,” he said, his voice softening the slightest bit. “I’ve never been great at taking care of myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said curtly, and then buried her face against his shoulder. “Think you’re up for distracting me? The room’s starting to spin and there’s nothing left in my stomach.”

“I think I can handle that,” he responded automatically, which explained why it took a good minute before he spoke again. “I ever tell you that I ran away to the circus?”

She choked out a laugh at that. “No. Are you serious? That sort of thing doesn’t really happen.”

“I’m totally serious. I told you I ran away from my foster home with my brother because our foster parents were horrible to us. One thing led to another and we ended up working for a circus. Well, working’s a rather generous term since we didn’t get paid for what we did. But we were given a place to stay and food to eat and we thought that was better than being out on the street.”

“So, what was your act?” Natasha inquired. “Let me guess… flying trapeze? Lion tamer? Clown?”

“None of the above. I was a sharpshooter. Where do you think I learned to use a bow?”

“A sharpshooter, huh? Did you have a stage name?” she asked. “Was Pietro right when he called you Robin Hood?”

“Yes, yes, and no,” he said. “They called me Hawkeye.”

“Hawkeye,” she repeated. “So, that’s where you got that nickname and learned to shoot? Did you eventually age out of the circus? Is that something that happens?”

He didn’t realize he’d been smiling until the smile faded in response to that question. “Not exactly. I had a bit of a disagreement with my mentor and he nearly killed me. I ended up back in the foster system for a bit but I was in and out of juvie so I didn’t stay with any family or in any group home for much time. I ran into Coulson in the middle of that mess. He helped me go straight, more or less, got me through getting my GED, and helped me with my college applications.”

When Natasha didn’t respond for a few moments, he added, “I figured you deserved to hear the truth about me after everything I found out about you.” 

Her arms wrapped more tightly around him at that, her breath ghosting against his throat as she softly said, “Thank you, Clint.” 

For as hard as it had been to bring himself to tell her about his past, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders almost immediately. Despite everything that had happened and everything that might happen – not to mention the bullet hole in his arm and shattered bones in his ankle, plus the fact that Natasha was utterly shitfaced and was likely to be miserably hung-over the next day – he felt hopeful.

Then again, he’d always been a horrible judge of how to feel about these types of situations.

-~-

Pietro had never been more relieved to leave the townhouse. True, leaving the townhouse always came with a certain level of anxiety – being out in the open, even for a matter of minutes, could easily lead to awful consequences – but the tension in the house had been absolutely miserable to live with for the past few days. 

When they’d left that morning, Natasha had still been in bed and Bucky had asked Steve if he was willing to borrow Natasha’s car and bring the twins to Shield. Steve accepted, of course, and Pietro had eagerly tossed on one of his favorite outfits in preparation for his first tattoo. He’d talked to Steve the entire drive to the shop, asking questions about the tattooing process, even if by the end of the conversation, Steve had responded almost exclusively with, “It would make more sense to talk once we get inside and I can review the paperwork with you.”

By the time the car pulled into the alley, Pietro was much less concerned with discussing his tattoo any longer and more excited for seeing Darcy. He all but leapt out of the car – pausing long enough to wait for Steve to unlock the back door and because he wasn’t about to leave his sister alone outside for even a second – and then hurried through the shop and into the lobby, where Darcy was sifting through a pile of papers and getting the computer up and running.

“Hey there, Silver Blaze,” she greeted him, coming out from behind the counter to ruffle his hair. “I saw you were on the schedule today. Glad you could make it in. You excited?”

“Definitely,” he said cheerfully. 

“That’s good because I’ve got a ton of paperwork for you to look over and I’m going to need an ID,” she said, passing a packet of papers over the table to him.

Thankfully in the process of doing so, she missed the panicked look that he had no doubt crossed his face when she mentioned the ID. He exchanged a look with Wanda, who stood behind him, and saw the same level of panic reflected on her face.

“No need for that, Darce,” Steve said, walking through the lobby and heading straight to his office. “I’ve already got that covered. Just walk him through the paperwork while I set up.”

“You got it, boss,” Darcy said easily. “There’s a whole lot to look over, stuff to initial, questions about medical conditions, all of those sorts of things. I’m guessing Steve’s already gone over the basic information and you’ve picked out a design?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we discussed the design, where it’s going, how much pain it’s gonna cause, and a bit of stuff on tattoo aftercare.”

“Good,” Darcy said. “He’ll go over the tattoo aftercare piece again once he finishes up today. He’s including our tattoo aftercare products on a complementary basis for you, since this entire tattoo is a late birthday present or whatever. Just look over the forms, let me know if you have any questions, and once that’s completed, Steve will look them over and call you back when he’s got the office set up.”

Pietro nodded and took a seat on the couch, with Wanda beside him, peering over his shoulder as he went through the forms. Nothing was particularly surprising to him – the paperwork covered questions on allergies from latex to antibiotics and everything between, medical conditions, blood borne diseases, current medications, the last time he’d eaten (which he technically lied about, given that he’d barely eaten anything that morning), and questions regarding whether he had taken any substances that might alter his judgment – and he finished filling out the forms and initialing in all of the right spots before signing the document. 

Not with his real name, of course, which he hoped had been covered with Darcy already. Steve had set up everything necessary, with the help of Natasha, who had provided a reasonably passable fake ID to copy and add to the file. 

He returned the paperwork to Darcy. She didn’t bat an eye upon seeing the name he’d signed everything with, and said, “I’ll go check with Steve, see if he’s ready for you to come back.”

He felt Wanda’s fingers interlace with his own, offering him a gentle squeeze, before she murmured, “You nervous?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “I talked to Steve a lot last night about the tattoo. He said that doing a ribcage tattoo for the first one probably isn’t the best idea but he couldn’t talk me out of it. I know it’s gonna hurt but it can’t be worse than anything I’ve gone through before.” 

He had the urge to shift the end of that into a question, to ask, “Right?” but managed to stop himself. He wasn’t about to reconsider his decision, not after determining the specific design and location. Not when it meant this much to him.

“Ready to come on back?” Steve asked, before Wanda could respond. 

Pietro nodded and Wanda gave his hand one final squeeze before they both stood up. 

He offered a grin to Darcy and said, “See you on the other side” and she wished him luck.

Steve glanced at Wanda, who was following behind Pietro, and asked, “You good with your sister coming along?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather her be,” Pietro said quickly. 

While there was a part of him that didn’t want her to watch as he went through this – despite his words, he wasn’t certain what level the pain would hit and how he’d respond – he also didn’t want to leave her alone in the shop. He knew Darcy would keep an eye out for her and get her into one of the other offices if anyone came in, yet he didn’t feel completely comfortable with having her out of sight for that long. Too many different things could happen.

And if he were to be fully honest with himself, he appreciated the moral support.

He paused mid-step as he entered the office. For as many times as he’d been in there before, he’d never looked at the tattoo chair and reflected at how much it resembled a torture instrument. That didn’t even include the tray set up beside the chair, with the sterilized package of needles, tattoo machine, several caps full of black ink, and what looked like a container of blue goo sitting beside a stack of paper towels.

Steve gestured towards the chair and said, “Take off your shirt and make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a few things to go over first.”

Pietro hesitated for half a second before shrugging off his shirt. He maintained eye contact with Steve the entire time, just to see if his expression would change when he saw the scars crisscrossing his sides and back. Steve’s jaw tightened but otherwise he showed no dramatic reaction, which was reassuring to Pietro. If Steve could maintain his composure to the same degree Sam had when they saw his scars, he was someone to be reasonably trusted.

“While I finish getting set up, I’ve got a few questions for you and things to discuss,” Steve said. “You’re welcome to sit or stand as we chat, whichever is more comfortable for you.”

He washed his hands in the sink and pulled on a set of gloves before carefully opening up the needles, presumably for Pietro to see that they were coming from a sterilized container and going straight into the tattoo machine from there. 

As he worked, he inquired, “Any questions on your mind?” and Pietro shook his head. “Alright, let me know if that changes. I’ve already talked your ear off about the pain level of rib tattoos. If you start to feel lightheaded or dizzy, let me know immediately.”

“I can do that,” Pietro said, settling down on the chair.

“Then let’s get started. I’ll get the stencil on you, you can let me know if the placement looks good, and then we’ll proceed from there.”

He considered how to position himself and then determined that he would prefer to keep his back to Steve throughout, which meant curling up on his right side. He’d been taught not to show any signs of pain or distress whenever possible and he’d be under less strain to have Steve behind him, unable to see his facial expression.

Wanda pulled a stool over and watched anxiously as Steve disinfected Pietro’s skin and carefully placed the stencil along his side. Pietro craned his neck to see how the design stretched from his hip and up his side and Steve offered him a handheld mirror as well, to get a better angle so that Pietro could give his full approval.

Pietro offered a thumbs up and then reached for Wanda’s hand with his right one, raising his left arm over his head, in part to keep out of the way, but also because he hoped Steve might not notice if he grasped a handful of hair in his hand to keep himself focused. He wasn’t about to crush Wanda’s hand if the pain got to be too much.

“Remember, you can always let me know if you need a break,” Steve murmured. “Take a deep breath and we’ll get started.”

Before the needles bit into his skin, Pietro had already closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing. Preparing for pain wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to him, though he was admittedly out of practice. Some people would probably call it meditating; for him it was just another way of checking out and imagining himself to be anywhere else except for where he physically was at that exact moment. His default was a beach, warm sand and cool water under his feet, and his mind readily recalled that scenario and brought him there.

It wasn’t enough to prevent him from registering the initial burst of pain. There was enough familiarity with the location and motion – having his skin stripped off by a belt or whip had always occurred in more or less that same location and it came in the same waves, with pauses in-between – although this pain was a different sort. This felt more like a knife was cleaving through his skin, as though a thousand bees were stinging him, and as though both of those things were happening at once. 

He gritted his teeth to bite back any urge to beg Steve to stop. He’d never begged before, not for himself at least, and he wasn’t about to beg now. Not when this was his own choice and his chance to take back his body with an image that meant this much to him. 

Wanda squeezed his hand sympathetically and he barely tightened his fingers around hers, not wanting to accidentally cause her any pain. He maintained the nice, even breathing and tried to keep himself out of the room and on his imaginary beach, where the wind was soothing against his skin and the waves lapped at his ankles. 

His mind didn’t seem to fully be cooperating. Even though the pain was different, his memories were treacherous. Instead of remaining at the beach, he was back in the house – in his room or in the basement, that was where it usually happened – and he was refusing to scream despite the pain because he didn’t want to upset Wanda. The longer Talbot remained focused on him, the less likely it was that he’d hurt Pietro’s sister. By the time he remembered she existed, he would have exhausted himself and his anger and Pietro forced himself to remember that every bite of the belt sparred Wanda the same type of pain.

“You doing alright?” 

Steve’s voice cut into Pietro’s thoughts and he responded automatically with, “Just fine,” grateful that his voice didn’t betray him.

“Let me know if that changes,” Steve reiterated.

“Will do,” Pietro managed to say.

Then he went back to his imagination; this time to the woods, in the hopes that that would keep him focused and distracted for a little bit longer. He imagined the sight of sunlight coming through the leaves on the tree branches overhead, the sensation of the dirt beneath his feet, and the feeling of the bark on the trees beneath his hand. Maybe the visualization was working better than the first one or his body was adjusting to the pain or his body had just flooded itself with endorphins, because the pain seemed a bit more distanced this time. 

Somewhere between the wandering in the woods and accidentally pulling himself back to the present by grasping a handful of hair, he registered that something wasn’t quite right. His eyes were closed but despite that, he was seeing spots and his thoughts weren’t quite clear. It occurred to him that in this situation, he was supposed to tell Steve and let him know that he wasn’t feeling okay, but that would mean stopping. That would mean a half-finished design that he’d need to go through another session to complete. He wasn’t about to do that, not when he’d come this far.

Then there was silence and stillness and the sense that he must have missed something because suddenly Wanda was saying his name and a hand was lightly shaking his shoulder. He registered that his shirt was off and his side was on fire and in the flash of blind panic that followed, he likely would have ended up on the floor if Wanda hadn’t securely grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from moving.

At the least, he assumed it was her given that she was murmuring, “Easy, easy, it’s okay.” 

“You up for opening your eyes?” another voice piped up and after a moment, Pietro managed to piece together that it was Steve. 

“I can do that,” he said groggily and then cracked his eyes open.

His vision was still a bit blurry but seeing the room helped him to put the final pieces together. He was in Steve’s office. He’d been getting a tattoo. 

And he must have passed out. How fucking embarrassing.

“I’ve got a glass of water,” Steve said, and with Wanda’s help, Pietro managed to get the cup to his lips and take several sips. “Just take it easy. What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

“About one bite of toast,” he admitted. “I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

“That’s probably it,” Steve said, sounding a bit relieved. “A lot of times when endorphins kick in, your blood sugar drops and if you haven’t eaten, exactly what just happened can happen.”

“That mean we have to stop for the day?” Pietro asked. 

He chanced a glance down at his side, a movement that only made him the slightest bit dizzy, and saw that the design was only about half finished. The thought of having the unfinished design on his body – particularly without having planned for that - made him feel vaguely sick, not that he could entirely figure out why. Granted, that was very likely due to the fact that he’d just passed out.

“Nope,” Steve said calmly. “I’m going to grab you a chocolate bar, you’re going to eat that and drink the rest of the glass of water, and then we’ll get back to work. This time though, I need you to let me know if you start feeling even the slightest bit dizzy so that I can stop and we can see if you need water or just a few minutes to let your system calm down before we continue. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Pietro said, closing his eyes again.

He listened to Steve’s footsteps move out from the office before he opened his eyes again and offered Wanda a faint grin in response to her look of concern. 

“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Wanda, I promise, I’m okay.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You just passed out. That’s not okay. I don’t like seeing you in pain to begin with…”

“But I knew it would hurt going into this,” he said quickly. “It’s not as bad as it looked, Wanda. I promise. This is all on me. I lied and told Steve I’d eaten this morning when I really hadn’t. I’ll get some chocolate and finish this water and I’ll be fine.”

Her look of concern didn’t ease that much and she merely sighed and smoothed back his hair while he finished the rest of the glass of water. Already, his head felt clearer and he felt more focused. Steve returned with the chocolate, as promised, and by the time he finished eating that, he felt more or less back to normal.

“You ready to continue?” Steve asked. Pietro offered him a thumbs up and got himself settled again as Steve washed his hands and put on a new pair of gloves. 

This time, though, he tightened his grip on Wanda’s hand and focused on her. When the pain got to be too much, he imagined being in another place once more and at some point he just started reminding himself that it was almost over and he just had to hold on a bit longer. Thankfully, his vision remained clear and he didn’t find himself feeling particularly dizzy, though he wasn’t certain he was the best judge of that. 

By the time Steve drew back and said, “Alright, we’re done,” his entire body felt as though it was vibrating at a low frequency, every inch of his skin electrified.

Although he was pretty sure he felt as okay as one was meant to feel after a tattoo on one of the most painful parts of the body, he carefully sat up, grateful for Wanda’s arm around his shoulders. 

Steve looked tired but pleased and said, “I think you’ll like what you see” and nodded towards the mirror on the wall.

Pietro rose to his feet, only stumbling the slightest bit, and carefully surveyed the finished work. The wolf, all done in almost tribal-like outlines, moved as though climbing up Pietro’s side, exactly as he’d imagined it would. 

He turned back to Steve. “When can we do the other one?”

Steve looked amused at the question, which didn’t bother Pietro as much as it normally would have. “We’ll need to give that a couple of weeks. One, because your sister’s commissioned me for a design as well, and I’ve got a lot of work booked before I take off for the holidays, but secondly because I don’t want you lying on your side until that tattoo is good and healed. We’ll look to book that session after New Year’s.”

Pietro made a face – he couldn’t help it – and muttered, “That’s forever from now.”

“It’s just a few weeks,” Steve pointed out. “Just promise me that for that session, you’ll make sure to be properly hydrated and fed. That one’s gonna take longer than this one with all the shading – this one was mostly outlines – and that’s going to hurt more over the scar tissue.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good,” Steve said, and his voice turned a bit more serious, which made Pietro reasonably certain that he was gearing up to give him a lecture. “Because I really like your choice in designs and the meaning behind it. I promise that it won’t be too long until you have both wolves permanently on your body.” At which point his tone softened. “I asked Darcy to order pizza for the two of you and you’re welcome to hang out downstairs or in the apartment for the rest of the day. Just make sure you let one of us know if you don’t feel quite right.” 

“I will,” Pietro promised and then added the fairly infrequently utilized, “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to do this.”

“I was happy to,” Steve said with a grin. “Besides, with the holidays coming up, it’s the least I can do.” Then he went right back to business. “Now, come over here and let me get a bandage over that. Keep it on for 3 hours and then follow the aftercare instructions. Darcy will be more than happy to walk you through those once more when she gives you the materials. Plus, if you’ve got any questions throughout the day or night, I’ll be around.”

For the first time in years, Pietro didn’t even think of flinching as Steve’s hands carefully taped a bandage over the tattoo on his side. He didn’t feel the urge to immediately grab his shirt and cover up the marks because now the marks were interspersed with a design he’d chosen to place there. 

Even the thought of eventually showing Darcy his tattoo seemed much more doable. 

-~-

There hadn’t been enough sleep over the past few nights. The lack of sleep hadn’t been particularly bad until the previous night, when Bucky had returned home with Steve to discover that Natasha was utterly trashed and Clint was struggling to take care of her while also taking care of himself. Without question, he’d done everything he could to get Natasha food and water, as well as to help Clint move around – grateful that with his right arm still healing, his left arm was more than capable of offering enough support to get Clint in and out of the wheelchair.

He hadn’t questioned Natasha’s lie when she told him that Sam had left to catch up on work. The fact that she was trashed and couldn’t quite meet his eyes when she told him this story was enough to clue him into the fact that something else had happened. That was her business for the time being though. With everything else going on, he wasn’t about to press the matter further.

Instead, he’d stayed up for most of the night, until he was certain that Natasha wasn’t in danger of alcohol poisoning and wasn’t on the verge of getting sick again, given that Clint had told him Natasha had already thrown up once. When he had slept, it had been fitful and he’d frequently woken up and found himself wandering downstairs and checking the locks on the doors and windows – something he hadn’t done in months.

In the morning, Steve’s alarm woke him up and he’d done his best to help Steve get the twins ready and take at least a few minutes to spend with Steve, given that the past few days hadn’t allowed for the two of them to spend much time together. He’d reluctantly said goodbye, knowing he wouldn’t be able to join Steve at Shield with Natasha likely dealing with the hangover from hell and Clint unable to move and Sam still gone. Sam, who Bucky had merely texted with the offer, _If you need to vent, I’m around_ and had only heard back, _Thanks, Buck, but I’m fine. Take care of Natasha and Clint for me._

And that’s exactly what he’d been doing.

Now, halfway through the day, he could feel his body reacting to the distinct lack of self-care and overall strain. The limited amount of sleep was bad enough; the fact that he hadn’t eaten much either definitely wasn’t beneficial. The headache hadn’t fully manifested yet; instead preferring to remain just out of reach, taunting and teasing him and letting him know that sooner or later he’d be suffering the consequences of his actions. He’d popped a few Excedrin and tried any and all quick techniques he could manage – pressure points, massaging the back of his neck, putting a wet washcloth over his eyes for a few minutes – but that only seemed to be prolonging the inevitable. 

Already the lights were too bright and his skin felt stretched and thin, making the slightest pressure painful. He’d considered taking the heavy duty migraine meds or popping a few actual painkillers but previous experience told him that he’d be out for the rest of the day if he took either of those and he couldn’t do that to Natasha or Clint.

Granted, at the rate he was going, he was going to be taking himself out of commission one way or another. At this point, he could only hope that he was able to maintain this level of functioning until Steve came back with the twins and at least there were a few more sets of hands in the house.

Instead of worrying, it was easier to keep himself focused on anything else, even if his mind was already steering him in unfortunate directions. He didn’t need to be reminded that in comparison to what everyone else was dealing with, his own situation was pathetically minimal. He didn’t have a bullet hole in his arm or classes with papers and exams to worry about. His relationship wasn’t disintegrating in front of his eyes like Natasha’s, Clint’s, and Sam’s seemed to be. He was just a mess physically and mentally but then so was everyone else and they were also juggling more responsibilities since he didn’t even have work at this point.

All in all, he had no right to be falling apart except that his body hated him and refused to cooperate.

As though mocking his thoughts, footsteps came towards him and a moment later Natasha commented, “You look like shit, James.”

“Thanks, Nat,” he said in return. “That means a lot, coming from you right now.” 

“Are you saying that I’m not looking my best?” she countered, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“I’m saying that I’ve seen you look better,” he responded as diplomatically as he could.

“I could say the same to you.” She folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. “When was the last time you slept?” 

“Last night,” he said. Then, under her raised eyebrow and skeptical gaze, he amended, “But I only got a few hours.” 

“Look, if you need to get some sleep, I can handle everything. I’m just hung-over, I can still function and I can manage Clint.”

“I’m fine, Nat,” he said, struggling to keep his frustration out of his voice. “I’m just a little tired.”

“No, you’re not.” She reached over to cover his metal hand with her own. “I lived with you for awhile, James, and I spent plenty of time with you while you were still recovering. I know the signs when you’re fighting back a headache. You’re not going to be any use to anyone, including yourself, if you don’t get some rest.”

He couldn’t help but bristle at that. “How come everyone else can push themselves as hard as they need and no one ever says shit to them? How come I’m the only one treated like I’m broken and damaged?”

“First of all, that isn’t true,” Natasha said, and this time her tone was less soft. “I am equal opportunity when it comes to lecturing my friends about pushing themselves too hard, something that Clint would readily agree with, as would Sam, who I’ve made sleep and eat when he insists on trying to pull all-nighters. It’s not that you’re broken, James, it’s never been about that. You have certain difficulties that others don’t face and I want you to take care of yourself but no moreso than anyone else in my life that I care about.”

Before he could respond – and, truthfully, he likely would have regretted his words – she added, “I know I have no right to ask this of you but if that’s not enough, could we please refrain from doing this right now? I don’t need to ruin my relationships with two people that I care about in the same 24 hour period.”

“So, things went more poorly with Sam than you indicated, huh?” he questioned, and she merely shrugged. 

A bit of the tension left his body at that and he moved closer to smooth her hair back. “Shit, Nat, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she murmured. “It was my own fault and then I just fucked up more by getting shitfaced last night and putting you and Clint and Steve through all of this.” 

“For all the days and nights you’ve taken care of me, I think I can handle you getting drunk and dealing with a hangover,” Bucky pointed out. “I don’t mind it. Seriously.” 

“Well, do me a favor. If you insist on taking care of me and Clint, make one last check and then pop a couple of pills and get some sleep. I don’t need you passing out or getting sick, you don’t need you passing out or getting sick. No one needs that. If something major comes up, I can handle it. Alright?”

He stifled his frustration and anger as best he could, forcing himself to take several deep breaths before responding. The most frustrating part of all of this was recognizing that Natasha was right. He would be useless sooner or later if he didn’t get some rest. Right now, he was balancing right between the point where this could take him down and out for days, rather than merely sacrificing a few hours of rest and getting his brain reset.

“Alright,” he murmured, albeit with audible reluctance.

Natasha smiled – and the fact that it was an almost genuine smile made him feel like accepting his limitations was worth it – and got to her feet. He automatically steadied her as he saw her sway the slightest bit, resting his hands on her hips until he was certain she wasn’t in danger of falling, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek before stepping away. 

“Thank you, James,” she called over her shoulder, pausing long enough to grab one of the two remaining plates of goodies the twins had made, as well as the plate full of pizza he’d laid out in case Natasha or Clint got hungry. “We should be good on food with this but if you want to grab a couple bottles of water, we wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Water I can do. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He paused for long enough to compose a text message to Steve, just to let him know what was going on, and rapidly registered that things were going from bad to worse when he struggled to focus on the screen. He trusted the message to his memory of the layout of the keypad and autocorrect as he typed out, _Hey, Steve. If you need anything, give me a call. I’m about to take some of my meds and there’s no way a text message will wake me up. Don’t worry, I’m okay, not sleeping just makes the headaches worse. Hope you’re having a good day. Love you._

The fact that he didn’t even have the energy to write “I love you” because adding in the “I” was too much work clued him into how rapidly his energy was draining, particularly in light of the length of the rest of the message. He went to the refrigerator, slipping his cell phone into his pocket as he went, and removed three bottles of water, tucking them under his arms as he headed for the floor.

He didn’t even make it halfway up the staircase before he had to stop to rest. His vision wasn’t doing a whole lot better and he could feel his balance going as well, and the absolute last thing he needed in his life was to fall down the stairs. He pressed his back to the wall, shifting his weight as much as he could to the right and hoping against hope that he wouldn’t end up passing out and just rolling down the staircase because that would be just his luck. 

Instead of focusing on that, he tried to focus on what he had more control over. Slow, even breaths were where he started, careful not to breathe in too deeply and increase the dizziness anymore than the level it was already at. Grounding helped too, at least to a degree, although he’d found that it was much easier to keep from dissociating than to keep from passing out. Given that dissociating wasn’t his problem right now, there was a limit to how much benefit that would have. 

Ironically, it was the soft, obnoxious cries of the cat, mixed in with Koschei inexplicably licking Bucky’s right arm that helped him refocus enough to move. The insistence and determination in getting Bucky’s attention paid off and Bucky blinked several times to focus on the furball, only to find him perched on the stair above him. The kitten cried again and nuzzled against Bucky’s face and despite the overall situation, Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re a brat,” he muttered, reaching up to scratch the cat behind his ears. “Alright, I get the point. I shouldn’t be sitting here.”

Koschei cried again and then bounded up the next several steps before stopping, almost as though he were trying to encourage Bucky to move. Bucky carefully straightened up and when that didn’t end disastrously, worked on pushing himself into a standing position. Moving slowly kept him from getting any dizzier, although he quickly registered that getting the water bottles - which he’d apparently had the presence of mind to place on the stairs beneath him, rather than trust his ability to hold onto them when he was barely able to remain conscious - up the stairs wasn’t quite happening. 

This was definitely one instance when he was ready to let Natasha take over. She’d told him that she was capable of managing things and he would much rather have her grab the water bottles if she were reasonably capable of walking than try to carry them himself when he was finding that there was less walking up the stairs and more crawling and dragging himself up the stairs. 

He trusted himself to try standing again once he was a foot away from the top and felt reasonably confident that he wouldn’t fall backwards and die. Leaning against the wall helped a bit and despite his better judgment, he went to Natasha first.

He was greeted with a low whistle from Clint. “Wow, Barnes, you look about as good as I feel and that’s pretty shitty. You okay?” 

“Got a migraine,” Bucky said quickly, struggling to focus, particularly in the low light of the room – not that bright light would’ve been helpful either. He could see a blurry lump in the bed, which was most likely Clint, given that he could see Natasha sitting on the edge of the bed beside the lump thanks to her red hair. “You need anything, Barton?”

“I’m good,” Clint assured him. “Get some rest, man. That’s what I’m doing.” 

“As long as you’re sure,” Bucky said, though at this point he didn’t have the energy to push it further. “I left the water on the steps, Nat. You mind grabbing it?”

“Not at all,” she said quickly, rising to her feet. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I can get to bed on my own.” He managed an only slightly forced smile. “I probably won’t be particularly coherent for the next couple of hours but yell if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Natasha promised.

He didn’t protest when she walked with him – if resting one hand on the wall for guidance and support and stumbling could be considered walking – but she stayed a respectful distance as he made his way to bed. He was grateful for her presence upon realizing that with his vision blurring, he couldn’t read the labels on his medication bottles and he wasn’t about to trust his memory of where he’d placed them or what the pills felt like at this point.

Instead, he accepted her help and swallowed down the pills without question or argument. A murmured thanks followed and he didn’t even mind the fact that she remained by his side, combing her fingers through his hair until everything became hazier and his thoughts stopped making sense and he had enough time to register that the medication had kicked in before his thoughts went away completely.

Time passed strangely after that, since it simultaneously felt as though it had been days or minutes when he woke up to feel his hair being played with again. He registered that his head hurt considerably less than it had earlier, though there was no doubt that his body needed more rest than he’d gotten regardless of how long he’d been sleeping.

He must have made a sound because a moment later, Steve’s voice murmured, “Hey, Buck. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time’s it?”

“It’s around 8. I got back about an hour ago with the twins. I checked on you when I got in but since you were sleeping, I let you be while I got them fed.”

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked automatically.

“Everything’s good. Pietro got his tattoo today. They both helped me out at work.”

“Good.”

There was more he wanted to say but that still felt like too much effort and he didn’t have the energy for that right now. Steve seemed to understand, given that he just lightly squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.

“Get back to sleep, Buck. I just wanted to check on you. I’ll be right here if you need anything. I’ll just be working on a paper.”

There was a flicker of concern, of anger, but that was gone as briefly as it appeared. Apparently the lack of energy was impacting his emotions as well. Besides, as much as he could figure, there was no reason to be frustrated with himself. Steve had his own work to do and he wasn’t sacrificing that work to take care of Bucky. There was no reason why Bucky couldn’t sleep while Steve finished up his paper for school.

Months ago, he would have been frustrated with himself for getting taken down with a migraine like this. Now, he just felt warm and comfortable – or at least comfortably medicated – and perfectly willing to return to sleep. Steve could take care of himself, Natasha and Clint were managing, and the twins were all right. There was nothing else he needed to do except to take care of himself.

And that he could manage without beating himself up for taking the time to do so.

Particularly when Steve pressed a kiss to his lips and murmured, “I love you” and Bucky echoed those words as before returning the kiss.

The majority of his life – and the lives of his friends - might have been a mess but at least certain things were going quite well.


	31. I Am Not As Fine As I Seem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy and Pietro share a moment, Bucky and Sam have a heart-to-heart, Pietro realizes that relationships are hard, Clint and Natasha openly discuss recent events with Sam, and Sam acknowledges that he's not as fine as he's been pretending that he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. It's been a super chaotic past several weeks, what with waiting for news on my future and then getting the news and now having to navigate moving back up north at the end of this month. I'm hoping that now that things have settled down a bit, I'll be more back on track.

The atmosphere in Shield hadn’t felt normal in what seemed like forever. Once upon a time, Darcy was used to showing up right around opening, to find Steve already downstairs and setting up before class. The two of them would greet one another and she’d provide some appropriately witty comments and comebacks before Steve headed off to class or went back with his first client. When Peter was there, he’d usually shuffled in shortly after Steve disappeared and Darcy would share a cup of coffee with him before he started working himself.

Then Peter disappeared and Bucky came along and things changed a bit. Despite everything, Bucky warmed up to her surprisingly fast and she found that it was much more fun to banter with him than Peter. Plus there was something to be said for Steve looking happier and actually dating – after all, none of her attempts to set him up over the previous years of friendship had led to anything meaningful. 

Just as she’d gotten into the swing of that, Steve’s hands were injured and Clint came on, which was cool because working with him was closer to how things had been with Peter, with the benefit of Clint sharing his coffee and his dog with her. But Clint was a walking train wreck and missed plenty of days himself, although the twins – particularly Pietro – provided a good replacement. 

At least Steve’s presence had mostly remained the same overall, thanks to him living right over the shop. These past few days though, he’d mostly been staying over at Natasha’s townhouse with Bucky. Though he’d been around for work, there was something weird about coming into the shop in the morning and being the only one there. 

She’d gone through the usual morning routine; making coffee, checking the calendar, preparing a few packets of paperwork for the upcoming clients, and then settled down to catch up on some Shakespeare for one of her English classes.

Hearing the bell ring over the door was music to her ears and seeing the lobby quickly fill with people as Steve, Bucky, and the twins stepped in was even better. She abandoned Shakespeare to the counter and greeted them. Bucky went straight for the coffee and then directly upstairs – she noted the dark circles under his eyes but didn’t comment – and Steve got the twins settled before heading back for his first appointment. Naturally, the twins scurried off in their own directions before Steve’s client came in, Wanda following Bucky’s trajectory up the stairs, Pietro into Clint’s currently abandoned office.

Darcy reluctantly focused her attention on getting the client set up; reviewing the paperwork with him and then sending him back to Steve. It wasn’t until she glanced at the computer that she realized it had been a good ten minutes since Pietro disappeared into the office. There was probably no reason to be worried, although Steve had mentioned that Pietro had a rough time with the tattoo the previous day, but she was pretty sure negative reactions to tattoos didn’t continue for days afterwards. 

Still, after a few moments of reflection and recognizing that Wanda was still upstairs with Bucky, she couldn’t stop herself from peaking her head in. She stepped inside the room, automatically closing the door behind her, and froze when she saw Pietro standing in front of the mirror, his t-shirt tugged up to his shoulders and his back to her. 

A part of her had always known that he’d clearly gone through awful, horrible, no good experiences. Most kids didn’t end up on the street because things were great at home. Plus, there was no reason that at the age of 18, there would be a need for all of the secrecy and for the twins to get hypervigilant and anxious whenever someone walked into the shop. 

But the twins didn’t talk about how bad things were, and she’d never pressed them to. Now, though, staring at the webbing of scars spanning the entirety of Pietro’s back, she had no doubts. Darcy didn’t consider herself squeamish – you couldn’t work at a tattoo shop if you were, as far as she was considered – but looking at the sheer number of scars and trying not to think about how there were different degrees and some were thicker than others or still reddened and everything that might mean made her vaguely sick. 

There was no doubt in her mind that Pietro had not wanted her to see this. When he said, “Hey, Wanda, I definitely need a hand getting this shit on my tattoo” and there was audible relief in his voice, she half-considered trying to step right back out of the room before he realized that she was definitely not his sister. 

She never had the chance. Half a moment after he’d spoke, he turned to face her and froze.

The words, “I’m sorry” were on her lips as she saw him swallow hard once, twice, and then, before she had the chance to speak, he straightened his shoulders and something akin to a smirk twisted his lips. Without a word, he tugged his shirt the rest of the way over his head, and then almost defiantly dropped it on the ground. 

This situation felt so far out of Darcy’s expertise and comfort zone that she wasn’t sure what to do. Sure, she’d been flirting with Pietro almost consistently since he started coming around the shop. She definitely liked him but absolutely none of her fantasies – and there had, admittedly, been several and almost all of them involved engaging in activities in places that would have Steve scrubbing the majority of the shop down in bleach if he ever knew – involved Pietro being this vulnerable. 

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, before Pietro broke the silence by saying, “So, now you’ve seen them.” 

The words held a challenge that she didn’t quite know how to answer. “I have,” she acknowledged, because what else was there to say? 

“Does that change things?”

There wasn’t a need to hesitate before shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

She kept her sentences short, her words carefully chosen, because if she dropped to her default snarkiness, she had no doubt she would say something that could be easily misconstrued.

There was something not quite right about this but she wasn’t sure it was entirely wrong either. Pietro’s gaze, locked on her own, still were wary and defensive but she caught his eyes drop to her lips – and then unconsciously flick his tongue out to wet his own – and then his gaze dropped lower and the wariness fell away, bit by bit, to be replaced with desire.

“Pietro,” she started, and then stopped herself, shrugged, and reached up to tangle her fingers in his white curls, noticing that his dark roots were more than visible, suggesting that it had been too long since his last dye job. Given that she got distracted with those thoughts, she wasn’t 100% certain which one of them actually initiated the kiss.

She just knew that a moment later, his lips were on hers and she wasn’t thinking about anything else except the taste of him and the sensation of his fingers tangling in her hair to draw her closer. There was a hesitance, almost as though he were holding back, which she wouldn’t have expected given his overall confidence. Then again, from the little she knew about him, she gathered there probably hadn’t been many opportunities for kissing girls – or guys, she didn’t know for certain if he swung both ways.

Still he wasn’t bad and she’d wanted this for far too many weeks to be disappointed that it wasn’t as perfect as she’d imagined in her admittedly frequent daydreams about him.

He was the one who finally drew back, after enough time that her head was spinning and both were almost gasping. At some point, her hands had ended up on his very nicely muscled chest and his skin was warm against her own. There was the slightest look of unease in Pietro’s eyes. She hoped that nothing she had done had caused that.

“I hope that was alright,” he said, when she failed to speak. 

“That was more than alright,” she said breathlessly. “I mean, that was amazing.”

Whatever Pietro might have said in response to that was cut off when the door opened behind them. Instinctively, both of them took a step back and were at a decently respectable distance when Wanda appeared in the doorway. Despite the fact that they hadn’t been caught when they were still gasping for breath, Darcy had no doubt that the look of guilt on Pietro’s face was somewhat mirrored on her own. 

Wanda picked up on that, given that she glanced back and forth between them. “Sorry for interrupting. I can go…?” 

Pietro shook his head. “You’re not interrupting anything.” 

Darcy tried not to feel completely resentful. “Yeah,” she added, with a bit of effort. “I need to get back out to man the front desk.” 

“And I need an extra set of hands to get this aftercare stuff on my tattoo before my skin dries out completely,” Pietro said. 

Darcy tried not to think about the fact that his sister would be the one doing that. That wasn’t completely and totally weird, right? They’d been on their own for so long that it wasn’t surprising that he’d turn to his sister for this sort of thing even that wasn’t exactly typical sibling behavior.

Still, by the time she got back out to the desk, leaving Pietro and Wanda alone in the office, she wasn’t quite sure how to sort out her feelings.

-~-

The bar was far too crowded for Bucky’s comfort. While he could remind himself that he was doing better than he had in the past – hell, months ago he’d never have been able to sit here, waiting for Sam to arrive – he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. At this point, he was reasonably certain that it was merely a function of his anxiety but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a warning signal. Then again, his ability to accurately sense danger hadn’t been fully functional in quite some time. It was hard to tell actual danger from the danger made up entirely in his mind when his body reacted the same way to each situation.

He took a sip from the beer in front of him. In the past ten minutes he’d been waiting since he managed to snag a booth in the back, he’d drank half already. On the plus side, the alcohol was helping to take the edge off. Again, not exactly his best coping method – particularly given that it occurred to him he hadn’t managed to eat dinner and was now drinking on an empty stomach - but he’d take it if it kept in his seat and his heart rate reasonably stable.

He glanced at his phone, looking for the time and any text messages, and saw that Sam was about five minutes late. Admittedly, that was unlike him; Sam had always been punctual, almost infuriatingly so. Furthermore, it was unusual for him to be late and not have texted Bucky to let him know his status.

He contemplated texting Sam but figured he’d let it go for a few more minutes. Rather than focusing on the time ticking by, he turned his attention to the other occupants of the bar. There were few familiar faces on this particular evening, none that he cared to speak with or think of for more than a matter of seconds. After a few moments he abandoned that tactic when he found that he was less trying to distract himself and more trying to ascertain whether there were any current threats in the bar.

His phone vibrated, revealing a text from Sam simply saying, “On my way” and he tried to focus on deep breathing and relaxation but ended up mostly downing the rest of his beer. He contemplated grabbing a second drink – and one for Sam too – but discarded that idea pretty quickly. He didn’t want to lose the booth, since it was giving him a decent view of everyone in the bar and all possible exits, and he wasn’t sure he could handle elbowing his way close enough to the bar to order.

Rather than fight with himself over the decision, Bucky accepted that he was already doing better than expected, having come to the bar on his own, and that managing his current level of anxiety was more than enough to drain the last little bit of energy he had left after a night of tossing and turning and a day spent helping out where he could at Shield. The last thing he needed to do was exhaust himself completely and run the risk of a breakdown.

Particularly when his entire motivation for coming here tonight to see Sam was to offer support to him. He still had no idea exactly what had transpired between Sam, Natasha, and Clint but given Natasha’s drinking and Sam’s absence, he had to assume it wasn’t anything good. As far as he was concerned, Natasha had Clint for added support, even if Clint was currently more of a disaster than usual and broken. It wasn’t that Sam had no one – obviously he had friends and family – but after all the times Sam had been there for him over the years, he figured the least he could do was give something back.

His musings were cut short when he noticed the familiar figure winding his way towards the booth. He raised his hand in what might have passed as a wave and Sam returned the gesture before pausing and signaling that he was heading to the bar to grab a drink. Bucky accepted Sam’s gestured offer to grab him a fresh drink as well and settled back to put his thoughts in order before Sam joined him at the table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sam said, as he placed both drinks on the table and slid into the booth across from him. “Things got a bit chaotic at the VA. I left later than I’d expected.”

“No worries,” Bucky said, and took a sip of his beer. “I get how that can happen.” 

Sam’s grin looked forced and didn’t reach his eyes; that was the first thing Bucky noticed about his appearance. The circles beneath his eyes were darker and deeper than usual – all grad students in psychology seemed to be running on a constant level of exhaustion, from what Bucky could gather – but he looked utterly and completely rundown.

“How’re you doing?” Sam inquired, which also wasn’t surprising because as far as Bucky could tell, Sam placed himself pretty low on the list of things to worry about.

“I’m alright,” Bucky said honestly, a bit surprised to realize that the words were true. “I mostly came here to check on you.”

“Because of everything with Nat and Clint?” Sam asked. “Don’t worry about that, Barnes. We’re handling that. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m worried in general,” Bucky clarified. “I mean, look, Sam. You’re always there for everyone else. You checked up on me when I was still in New York, you’ve been a constant presence in my life since I moved down here, and you work harder than any of us. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

Sam was quiet for a moment, long enough for Bucky to wonder if he’d overstepped his bounds. Then he sighed and said, “I’m managing. I’m not good but I’m managing. You know how it goes. When the stress builds up and self-care fails, that’s when everything else starts to fall apart. On top of – and I guess because of – everything that’s been going on, I’ve been pulling all-nighters to finish papers, missing meals, that sort of thing. I wasn’t sleeping well before anyways. I don’t know what triggered the shift, but now on top of my own demons, I’m taking home everyone else’s as well and that’s a lot of monsters to be wrestling with.”

Bucky chose his words as carefully as he could. “Have you thought about talking to someone about that?”

Sam laughed, and the sound was bitter and brittle and so far off from how he normally sounded that it jarred Bucky. “Of course I have. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, but it would be the first time since I started running the groups over at the VA. You know as well as I do how the system works. I don’t need that on my record. It’s bullshit because you’d think people working in mental health would recognize that sometimes when you’re helping others, you need some help of your own, but that’s not the way it goes. I’ve thought about trying to find someone outside the VA to talk to but that carries it’s own extra stress of trying to scrape together the money when I could get the goddamn services for free if I sought them out at the VA.”

“What about places that offer sliding fee scales?” Bucky suggested, at a loss for anything else that might be helpful given the predicament Sam had laid out.

“I’ve considered that,” Sam replied. “Probably would have followed through if I didn’t feel so ashamed. I know that’s stupid and wrong and ridiculous but, dammit, Barnes, I help people through this sort of thing for a living. Every waking moment is spent learning how to help others more effectively or actually carrying out therapy. I should be able to fix myself. I’ve done enough work with vets struggling with nightmares to know all of the treatment recommendations. It’s not as though I don’t have all of the coping skills and more that a therapist could teach me.”

“Isn’t that why people see therapists and psychologists and psychiatrists, and all of that though? It’s hard to be objective about yourself. It’s much easier to miss things or create explanations…”

“Or rationalize,” Sam acknowledged with a heavy sigh. “I know, Buck. I know I’m guilty of all of that and more and yet I still can’t seem to find the motivation to seek the help I know I need. There’s always an excuse: a shift at the VA that I can’t get out of, a paper for class, Clint getting shot…”

Bucky tried to choose his words as carefully as he could. “You’re not going to be good to help anyone else if you haven’t taken care of yourself first, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam said, and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that Sam seemed to be responding calmly rather than defensively. “I’m trying. I’ve looked at places. I’ve gotten some names and numbers. I just can’t seem to follow through. I just end up angry and frustrated with the system and with myself.”

“What would you tell one of your clients who came in talking like that?” Bucky lightly challenged.

“I’d work with him to reframe that way of thinking,” Sam said a bit reluctantly. “It’s not that easy to do the same with myself. Which I guess just shows the benefit of talking this over with a professional. You’re right, I’m not so great at challenging my way of thinking or taking care of myself.”

“I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just… Sam, you’re one of my best friends and you were right by my side through some of the worst experiences of my life. Without you and Nat, I honestly don’t think I’d still be here and I’m so grateful that I had the two of you to keep me from giving up. I just know how things looked when they were at their darkest and I don’t want to see you hit that point yourself.”

“I wouldn’t let it get that far,” Sam promised. “I won’t let it get that far.”

“And don’t be afraid to ask me if you need something. I’m not going to fall apart if you do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam said, and this time he managed a slight smile that looked almost genuine. “Now then, what do you say to another round?”

“I say that’s an unhealthy coping skill but I’m all in and the next round’s on me.”

He knocked back the rest of his drink and settled in for a long evening. Maybe Sam would open up about some of the other areas bothering him. Maybe Bucky would be able to do some good.

It felt strange to have their roles reversed but he had to admit there was a part of him that also liked it. 

-~-

Things had been strange since that morning.

Wanda was used to Pietro’s mood swings. They weren’t as bad before their adoptive mother died – sure, he would have his moments but they were much less dramatic and much more stable – but since her death, he held an almost constant level of restlessness and agitation that dipped towards anxiety or anger or depression depending on the particular situation and provocation.

Usually she could pinpoint the trigger and while she had an idea of what might have brought this on today, he hadn’t told her directly. That in and of itself was unusual; he rarely kept things to himself. But since she’d walked in on him and Darcy earlier, interrupting what she could only assume had been a romantic moment, there’d been something off about him.

For the rest of the day, the two of them had barely looked at one another or spoken. When Darcy finally left for the evening, Pietro lapsed into a moody silence, snapping when anyone dared to speak to him, including Wanda. That bothered her more than anything because it was unlike him to take that tone with her.

Back at the townhouse, he’d gone straight to their room. She’d stayed downstairs with Natasha and Clint, scratching Lucky behind the ears as she tried to focus on the movie the two of them were watching, but lost interest fairly early on and followed her brother’s footsteps upstairs.

She found him standing in front of the mirror, his shirt off – an almost identical moment from how she’d found him and Darcy that morning - and at first she thought he was staring at his new tattoo. It wasn’t until she registered the reflection in the mirror and saw that instead of the progressively more familiar sign of the wolf climbing his side being caught in the reflection, all she could see were the scars on his back.

His muscles tensed when she entered the room and there was a look of almost wariness in his eyes when he fully turned to her. The only thing she knew to do in this situation was to tread lightly. So she simply walked over to the bed and sat down, waiting for him to speak. Pietro inevitably would respond defensively if she pressed him before he was ready.

“Darcy kissed me,” he said, finally breaking the silence that had risen between them.

“I figured,” Wanda said softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Don’t be,” he said sharply. “It wasn’t going anywhere anyways.” 

“Why not? I mean, you obviously like her.”

“She saw my scars, Wanda.” Pietro turned away from her and tugged his shirt back on. “I don’t even know why she kissed me after that. I mean, there’s no way we can have an actual relationship or whatever. We’re on the run, it’s not even like I could see her outside of Shield. I don’t even know if I want a relationship.” 

“If she actually cares about you, like it seems she does, she’s not going to care about the scars,” Wanda pointed out. 

“Yeah, but she might care about the fact that our father’s never going to stop until he gets us back. I mean, she doesn’t even know the half of it and I don’t want her to end up in danger.” 

“That’s not all there is to it, is it?” Wanda asked. 

Pietro’s eyes blazed for a moment and then the fire went out and his shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not. I don’t know how to move into a relationship. I mean, hell, Wanda, it’s been the two of us for so long. If we add someone else, someone new to the mix, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Everything’s going to change.”

She extended her hand to him, waiting until he crossed the room to take it, and then pulled him onto the bed beside her. He readily settled against her side and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, her fingers lightly combing through his hair. As always, he fit against her perfectly, just as he always had, and she felt the rest of the tension leave his body.

“You’re right, everything will change,” she said gently. “But everything has been changing and we’ve adapted. We’ll adapt to this. The only thing I care about is you being happy.” 

“That’s all I want for you as well,” he mumbled. 

“And you’re afraid that I might not be happy if you and Darcy are together. That’s not going to happen, Pietro. I know you won’t forget about me. You can have a girlfriend without losing me. I’ll still be your sister and you’ll still be my brother. Nothing can change that.”

“You’re sure?” he questioned.

She lightly elbowed him in the ribs, mindful that this was not the side with the tattoo. “I’m positive. Give Darcy a call, tell her you like her and you’re sorry about today, before she starts to worry anymore than she already is that she’s done something wrong.”

Despite her words, she was glad that Pietro didn’t immediately move from her side. He was right; it had been the two of them for so long and this would be a change. Still, she wanted to see him happy. That always made her happy as well.

At the least, it always had in the past.

-~-

“Thank you for making the time to see us.”

The words, the first she’d said aside from a quick greeting when she met him at the door, felt oddly formal and incongruent with how Natasha normally spoke to Sam. His raised eyebrows as he took a seat at the dinning room table suggested he felt the same, as did the words that followed.

“Wow, Nat. I didn’t realize things between us had changed quite to that degree. Of course I’d make the time to see the two of you.”

Natasha noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes and slight tremor in his hands with some concern. She didn’t have time to comment on them or decide if asking how he was doing would even be a good idea before his gaze shifted away from her. He turned to Clint, who was sprawled out on the table, semi-propped up on his right arm, which seemed to be a recipe for disaster given that there was also a cup of coffee in his hand.

“How’re you holding up, Barton?” 

“Well enough,” Clint responded easily. “Got a ton of drugs in my system and I’m taking incompletes for this semester, so things could be worse, right?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Shit, I’m sorry. That’s rough.” 

Clint shrugged his good shoulder, nearly sloshing coffee all over the table. “It’s not that bad. Gives me time to get back on my feet and deal with some of the more pressing issues.” 

Sam nodded before returning his gaze to Natasha. “And how about you, Red?” 

He didn’t say it but she knew she looked as rough as he did. There had been too many sleepless nights, the kind that left marks concealer wouldn’t cover up. Taking care of Clint was hard enough, though somewhat familiar after the many months of taking care of Bucky. When managing final papers and projects was thrown into the mix and combined with the near silence between both her and her father and her and Sam – not to mention the constant vigilance when she left the house and worry about the twins and Bucky when they were out of her sight – it was no surprise that she looked as cracked and broken as she did. 

“I’ve been better,” she said as honestly as she could. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

“I know I didn’t help with that,” Sam said, his tone guarded.

Natasha shook her head; then, worried Sam might have gotten the wrong idea, quickly clarified, “No, this isn’t on you, Sam. I did this to myself.”

“Not that I’m not glad to see you taking responsibility for this. But it’s not all on you. Not unless you shot Barton yourself.”

“No, that’s not on me,” she acknowledged. “But things between us… that is on me.”

“And me,” Clint added. “I haven’t exactly been forthright either.”

Sam glanced back and forth between them expectantly.

Natasha took the cue. “Which is why we asked you to come over. We know it might be too little, too late, but we wanted you to know the truth.”

Clint nodded his agreement. “Look, man, we care about you and we’re sorry we didn’t get our heads out of our asses sooner.”

“As eloquent as always,” Sam said, with a slight smile. “Alright, apology accepted. I’m guessing there’s probably a good reason you didn’t tell me given that you’ve already mentioned the Russian mob.”

That seemed as perfect an opening as any and Natasha took it. “Yes. My parents were in the Russian mob, fairly high in the ranks, to be precise. That was what led to their assassination and I was expected to be killed as well, so as not to be able to continue their legacy.” 

She could tell that Sam was doing his best to hold back any questions but he couldn’t seem to resist asking, “And have you staked any claim to their name or titles?”

At the least, he wasn’t questioning her sanity or the veracity of her words. That was something.

“Of course not. For starters, I’m not suicidal. For another, this was back in Russia. My name still means something but I couldn’t just walk in and claim the position my parents used to hold in a completely different country.”

Sam nodded and she took that as an indication to continue. “I was moved to the United States because I was supposed to be dead. I don’t know the specific details, nor do I want to, but Ivan – the man who rescued me and got me out of the country – made a deal with my adoptive father. My father told me the truth about my lineage when I was old enough but the fact that my parents had those ties to the Russian mob wasn’t a big concern until a few days ago, which is where Clint comes in.”

Clint took another sip of coffee before speaking. “I’ve been working undercover for the cops for awhile now. To make a long story short, one thing led to another and somewhere between point A and point B, I managed to piss off the Russian mob. Apparently a lot, since they’ve now put a hit out on me, or at least that’s my assumption given recent events. Pretty sure that’s how I ended up getting shot. It wasn’t a random person with a gun, it was the Russian mob trying to take me out.” 

“You must’ve done something pretty major to piss them off to that degree,” Sam said. “I mean, carrying out a hit in a public place isn’t exactly low profile.”

“No, it’s not,” Clint said, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t think things had escalated quite that much until some fucker drugged my coffee and I woke up in the library to find myself being hunted.”

“Which was where I came in,” Natasha said. “I told the hitman my name – my real name – in the hopes of scaring him off and it worked. Given that everyone thinks I’m dead and there’s no record they could find that would let them know that I am actually Natalia Romanova, there’s no reason to believe that this is anything but a ghost story. All they do know is that I have knowledge of the Russian mob that most others would not have, which probably does put me in the crosshairs to a degree, but not to the level my father believes I am.”

There was silence once she stopped speaking. Sam looked back and forth between them before asking, “Is that everything?”

Clint glanced at Natasha before saying, “That’s about it. I mean, I figure it goes without saying that I started working undercover because I have a record about a mile long and Coulson got sick of my shit and this was his attempt to get me on the straight and narrow or, at least, to use my delinquent impulses for good. Oh, and I also ran away to the circus when I was a kid. You didn’t know that about me either. Since we’re laying everything out on the table here, I also have a brother who I haven’t spoken to in about four years, give or take. I think that about covers all of my deep, dark secrets.”

Sam slowly nodded. “Alright. Why did you decide to tell me all of this now?”

“Because we weren’t being fair to you,” Natasha said softly. “You’re right, we’d been keeping all of this to ourselves. Our motives for doing that don’t really matter because the fact remains that we hurt you. I’m sorry it took us so long to come to our senses but I believe I speak for both of us when I say that we regret not telling you sooner. You mean a lot to us, Sam, and neither one of us wants to lose you.”

“I know we don’t deserve it,” Clint chimed in. “But we’d really like another chance.”

The fact that Sam didn’t immediately respond and instead looked back and forth between them, his expression darkening and then becoming unreadable, wasn’t exactly comforting. 

Natasha was prepared to break the silence when Sam exhaled slowly and said, “This is a lot to take in. I don’t know if I have a definite answer right now. I’m not exactly in a good place to be making decisions.”

“That’s fine,” Clint said softly.

Natasha was grateful that he’d spoken because she couldn’t seem to find her voice. Somehow she’d convinced herself that when the three of them talked things out, everything would go back to normal. Sam would return, the three of them would be together again, but now she seemed to be in the same stasis of wondering whether or not she would lose him.

Sam started to stand. “I just need a few days to get back on my feet.”

Clint was nodding his agreement but Natasha couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Sam, what’s been going on with you?”

He offered her a half smile that was filled with bitterness and, for the first time she realized, barely suppressed anger. For a moment, she thought that it was directed at her but once he spoke, she recognized she was way off. Now she understood why Sam had responded that way to everything that had happened recently, why he wanted some space to regroup before making decisions.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Too many sleepless nights because I’m either staying up late working on papers or the nightmares keep me from sleeping. I recently lost a client and that’s weighing heavily on me – you’re the first people I’ve told that to, aside from my co-workers, because I wasn’t sure what hearing that would do to Barnes when I last talked to him. I’m overworked and underpaid and struggling to keep my head above water. Don’t worry, I’ve already gotten the, ‘You need help’ talk from Barnes and I know he’s right. I just haven’t figured out how to navigate that when I’m also working in the VA system.”

Natasha fought with herself on how to respond. The look in Sam’s eyes told her that he was desperately seeking out support and assurance but she had no doubt that with everything that had happened between them recently and his desire to have his space, anything she offered would come off as manipulative.

Thankfully, Clint was the one who spoke. “It’s Friday, right?” When Sam nodded, he continued, “Then, assuming you don’t have work or a paper due tonight or tomorrow, why don’t you stay over? Bucky and Steve should be over soon. We can play a couple rounds of Cards Against Humanity, have a few drinks – or at least you guys can, I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to drink on these meds – and then me and Nat can take care of you. At least make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m pretty good at that,” Natasha said softly. “I’ve had a lot of practice helping James over the years.” When Sam hesitated, she quickly added, “Please, at least consider it. This isn’t you making the choice to stay with us, if that’s not what you want. This is just us having the opportunity to help you and support you after everything you’ve done for us.”

Sam glanced over at her and there was something fragile and broken in his expression as he forced a small, shaky smile and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.


	32. Interlude: And I Wonder When I Sing Along With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve paints Bucky's arm and that's really all you need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the recent delays in posting and the fact that this is a shorter chapter than most. I felt that it stood well on its own and that the rest of the chapter it had originally been a part of would have detracted from this very, very important moment. 
> 
> These past few weeks have been a bit rough (as the next few ones will be) because all of my final coursework, clinical work, and teaching responsibilities are being due and coming to an end just as I am also struggling to pack up my entire apartment to move. It's been the good kind of rough since it's all related to the excellent news I received a few weeks back.
> 
> On the other plus side, after I attend a con at the beginning of May, I have about two weeks that are a bit less chaotic except for the awesome bachelorette party my friends are throwing me and my fiancee/beta-reader before the wedding occurs. As a result, I am hoping to get a ton of work done on this fic during those long days I will be spending with nothing to do on my family's farm.
> 
> This entire note was probably TMI. Whoops?

The past week had been a nonstop blur of finishing papers, finalizing his portfolio, gearing up for the end of the semester showcases, and putting as many hours into work at Shield as Steve could. In the midst of all of that, he’d been keeping an eye on Darcy and Pietro, who seemed to be growing closer by the day, and monitoring the situation with Natasha, Clint, and Sam. Bucky had been doing the same, given that for the last week the two of them had been staying over at the townhouse more than they had been at Steve’s apartment. 

Now though, they were finally having a quiet night in. The twins had left with Natasha earlier – and Steve was pleased to see that Sam came in with Natasha, both of them looking more rested than they had over the previous days, with Clint waiting in the backseat of the car. Bucky and Darcy had assisted on closing up for the day and, finally, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Steve didn’t have to finalize a drawing for his portfolio or write another paper once he made it upstairs to his apartment.

Bucky and Steve worked together to cook dinner – Steve was just grateful to not be eating takeout or pizza for another night – and dinner was followed by an extremely pleasant hour spent in Steve’s bed. As far as Steve was concerned, he could not have been more content at the moment; his head resting against Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky’s metal fingers threading through his hair, his head rising and falling with each breath Bucky took. 

“You look happy,” Bucky said.

Steve had to agree that was an accurate statement and a long time coming. Not that he’d been particularly unhappy recently but between the increased stress of school and work and all of the shit that had happened over the past couple of months, both bad and good, he couldn’t quite classify his mood as positive. If anything, it had been more neutral or balanced and just focused on surviving the semester over the most recent days.

Steve nestled closer. “I am. You do, too.”

It was true. Even amidst the recent events and all of the ups and downs, not to mention the continued pending case to determine whether Bucky would lose his license – which reminded Steve that he should follow up with Tony about that – Bucky seemed more stable and relaxed than he had during the entire time Steve had known him. That it had only been a few months felt strange; with how close the two had become, it felt as though Bucky had always been there, right by his side.

Steve’s fingers ghosted over the metal of Bucky’s arm. “You thought anymore about what you might want me to paint?”

“Actually, I have,” Bucky said, his tone turning a bit more serious. “It popped into my head almost the moment you suggested the idea and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t impulsive. Y’know, kinda the same way you’re supposed to sit on a tattoo design for awhile before you go for it.”

“What were you thinking of?” Steve propped himself up on one elbow so that he could study Bucky’s arm as he described the design. He always worked better when he had a visual image in his head first.

“It might sound stupid,” Bucky said, then stopped himself. “I know, I know, that’s not the way to start. I just don’t know how you’re going to respond to this idea.” He took a deep breath and Steve automatically reached for his hand, no longer flinching when the cold metal came into contact with his skin. “Working at Shield has really made all of the difference for me. When you first met me, for as much of a mess as I was, I was doing better than I had been in those first couple of months. Shield really completed the healing process for me or, at least, helped me take the next few steps forward. I felt like putting the shield on my arm might be too much but then I thought that we could do the white star, circled by red with a blue background, just like in the center of the shield.”

Steve couldn’t find his voice. He realized belatedly that might have sent the wrong message when Bucky’s expression fell the slightest bit. Steve could almost hear him preparing to backtrack, to yank those words back as though they’d never been said, and he knew that if he didn’t say something now, there might be some damage done.

“I love it, Buck,” he said, his voice cracking the slightest bit, but at least he’d spoken. “I guess I didn’t realize just how much it meant to you. I’m used to people wanting my art on their bodies – obviously, given my work – but my art doesn’t hold the same meaning to me that the shield does.”

“You’re okay with that though?” Bucky asked, his tone nervous. 

“Of course I am.” An idea sparked in his mind, a way that he could assure Bucky that he loved the idea. He’d already painted and repainted the image on the Shield, more times than he could count and he’d bought the paints for Bucky’s arm as soon as the idea had been discussed. “What would you say to doing it tonight?”

Steve knew he’d said the right thing from the moment he saw the tension leave Bucky’s body. “I think I’d be all for that.” 

“Yeah?” Steve said, feeling a grin light up his face. 

He scrambled upright, reluctantly pulling away from Bucky and the warmth of the bed, though he did take a few moments to appreciate the sight of Bucky curled up in the sheets, his skin still flushed from their earlier activities, hair tied back in a messy bun – more strands hanging loose than not, which Steve took full responsibility for, just as he took full responsibility for the darkening marks covering Bucky’s chest and throat. His eyes were half-lidded, almost sleepy, and he looked so utterly content that Steve nearly forgot to breathe. 

Apparently he did actually forget to breathe, given that Bucky raised an eyebrow and asked, “You having an asthma attack, Rogers? I know I’m breath-taking but do I need to grab your inhaler?”

Steve flipped him off and Bucky responded with laughter. He pointedly ignored him, although he was grinning, as he grabbed the box of paints from his desk.

“As much as I’m enjoying seeing you in my bed,” Steve said. “You might want to move over here, so that I don’t get paint all over the sheets.”

Bucky grumbled as he slipped out from beneath the covers and into the relatively colder air of the apartment, but he obediently came over and settled down on the floor. Steve considered putting down newspapers but then determined that he wasn’t particularly concerned about getting paint everywhere. 

“Anything you need from me?” Bucky asked and Steve shook his head.

“Just sit there and look pretty,” he suggested, as he studied Bucky’s arm.

He already knew where he would be placing the design but for some reason he couldn’t help his eyes going towards where the flesh and metal met on Bucky’s shoulder. The scarred flesh was no longer startling to him; he’d traced it often enough with his fingertips to have memorized each piece of repaired skin. Still, he sometimes wondered what it must have felt like to lose the arm – the pain, the sense of loss – or whether or not the metal actually felt like an extension of the body.

“I’m good at that,” Bucky said, drawing Steve’s attention away from those thoughts and returning him to the present. “I should’ve been a model.”

“Still a career option, as far as I’m concerned,” Steve responded, opening up the paints to outline the star.

There was silence for a few moments as Steve worked on the initial design and then his typical tattoo interaction came through, almost automatically. Even though this wasn’t a tattoo, he was so used to engaging in conversation while working on a client – it helped him to monitor their pain level and keep them distracted – that he couldn’t help himself.

“What does it feel like?” 

“To have you painting on the metal?” Bucky asked. “Not like anything, really. It takes a lot of pressure for me to notice that my arm is being touched. The paintbrush isn’t enough to create much of an effect.”

“Is that strange?”

“Not anymore. It was harder at the beginning. Now I’m pretty used to it. Because we had to wait for everything to heal, I had to get used to having my arm gone first. Then I adjusted to that and even though the metal isn’t as heavy as it looks, when they gave me the prosthetic the weight seemed monumental after having nothing there. I’d already gotten used to not feeling sensation, so that wasn’t as hard to adjust to.”

“I’m surprised Stark didn’t put technology into it that would allow you to experience sensations,” Steve commented.

“He was working on that, actually,” Bucky said. “This was one of the prototypes and particularly at the time, I wasn’t interested in waiting or going through the full procedure he’d been discussing since it would have involved implanting neurological transmitters or something. I figured my brain was already enough of a mess at the time. I’m also pretty sure that TBI would be contraindicated for that type of procedure anyways.”

As Bucky spoke, Steve carefully filled in the white star. When Bucky lapsed into silence, Steve allowed it to hold as he focused his attention on the artwork, mindful of each brush stroke. Bucky seemed fine with that, given that he just sat there, steadily watching Steve paint for several minutes before speaking again.

“I love watching you work,” he said, and Steve chanced a glance upwards and found a look of complete adoration on Bucky’s face. “Sorry. That was probably creepy.”

“Not at all,” Steve said, with a laugh. “It’s not like you said you like watching me sleep.”

“Well, I like that too,” Bucky countered. “You look peaceful then. But I like watching you work more. Your eyes get so intense and you have this cute little tendency of biting your lower lip.”

“Wow, waxing poetic over there, huh, Buck?” 

“That’s me, the poet,” Bucky said. “Clearly that was my other calling. Not a soldier. Not a model. Not a piercist. But a poet.”

“Why not all of those? You don’t seem the sort to be put in one box.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none, right?” Bucky said with a laugh.

The conversation dwindled once more as Steve continued to craft the design, trying not to focus on Bucky’s intense gaze and cursing his skin for blushing automatically in response. Still, after so many times painting and repainting the shield, the design came naturally. With almost no time at all, he finished the last few brushstrokes and sat back to study his work.

Somehow the star design worked perfectly against the metal of Bucky’s arm, as though it was always meant to be there.

Bucky seemed nervous under the scrutiny. “Does it look okay?”

“It looks perfect,” Steve said. “Want to take a look before I put the sealant on?”

Bucky nodded and accepted Steve’s offered hand to help him to his feet. Steve led him over the closet, opening it up so that Bucky could see his reflection in the mirror. 

It didn’t occur to Steve that over the months, he’d seen Bucky studiously avoid seeing his reflection in the mirror until they were standing in front of it. Bucky’s breath hitched in his chest with an audible gasp when he saw the design on the metal. 

“It’s exactly what I imagined,” Bucky murmured.

Steve slipped his arm around Bucky’s waist from behind and didn’t say anything.

There wasn’t any need to speak.


	33. I Said I Must Be Fine 'Cause My Heart's Still Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone currently in school unwinds from the stresses of the semester, Clint reflects on his family and his adoption of the twins, things go poorly with Loki, and Jane and Thor share a lovely evening that ends a bit unexpectedly.

Clint couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tired and yet this content. The past few days had been spent collaborating with the twins to keep the kitchen stocked with freshly prepared food so that Natasha and Sam wouldn’t starve themselves as they made it through finals week. Clint also singlehandedly focused on making certain that both of them got at least a few hours of sleep a night, which proved harder than expected; Natasha continued to sleep restlessly and Sam woke up choking and gasping for breath more nights than not.

All of that meant Clint didn’t get a whole lot of sleep himself. He mostly stayed up to stroke Natasha’s hair when she started to toss and turn, and to talk Sam down and ground him when he jerked awake. Once they went off to class or work in the morning, he’d snag a few hours of sleep, usually waking up when they came back to the townhouse. Often his own sleep wasn’t exactly restful – he was convinced there were only so many times he could relive that night in the library but that didn’t seem to be the case – but he didn’t mind. Nightmares weren’t exactly new to him. Besides, Lucky was great at comforting him when he did wake up. He would scratch her behind the ears until his heart rate and breathing returned to normal.

Now, at least, the stressors of the semester were over. Sam was curled up on the couch, his head in Clint’s lap, sleeping soundly for the moment. They’d tried to watch a movie but between the exhaustion and some vodka, Sam hadn’t made it through more than 30 minutes. Lucky had flopped on the floor beside the couch that Natasha had not already claimed for her beanbag chair. For her part, Natasha leaned against the side of the couch, her head in perfect hair-stroking range, and every so often she would lean back and nuzzle at Clint like a cat until he obliged and ran his fingers through her red curls.

She had a glass of vodka in one hand and was petting Koschei, who’d curled up in her lap, with the other. From the kitchen, pots and pans clanked as Wanda cooked dinner. Darcy and Pietro had helped intermittently, but at the moment the two of them were upstairs, washing the latest round of dye from Pietro’s hair and hopefully not engaging in any other activities.

It hit Clint all at once that this was what home was supposed to feel like. Not the endless parade of foster homes he’d been in, not the circus, not his mess of a dorm room, but this. A slight pang hit him as he considered the fact that home had never been with his birth family, though it lessened when he considered the fact that everyone surrounding him at the moment was his family in some way, shape, or form.

He didn’t comment on that realization; he wasn’t even certain that he could have verbalized it if he’d tried. Thankfully, Natasha took that moment to distract him from those thoughts.

“The holidays are coming up,” she said, with no preamble or conclusion to the statement. 

When she didn’t seem inclined to continue, Clint slowly said, “Yes, they are…?”

“I know James is heading back up to New York and that Steve and Sam are planning on spending the holidays with their families, so I was considering whether it might be worth hosting something here, maybe next weekend, kind of like we did for Thanksgiving.”

“I hope it goes a whole lot more smoothly than that did. I mean, that was kind of a disaster.”

“That was mostly due to Tony Stark and James making poor life decisions,” Natasha said, brushing off his concern. “I can’t say now whether I would invite Tony…”

“I would,” Clint said, surprising himself. “I mean, I know it meant a lot to him the last time despite the mess he made of things. It’s not like he has family to spend the holidays with.”

“No, it isn’t. Fine, I’ll invite him, too.”

She reached for her cell phone, on the table beside him, and he handed it over to her. 

“You inviting him now?” he inquired.

She shook her head. “No, I’m texting Loki. Now that everything has settled down, I figured it was high time I tried to repair the damage I caused there.” She lowered her voice, glancing over her shoulder at where Wanda was still working in the kitchen, before adding, “Steve still deserves to know what role Loki had in all of the things that have happened over the past several months.” 

Clint had, admittedly, completely forgotten about all of that and how the night of his shooting had messed up their entire plan. He blamed the painkillers for his forgetfulness.

“I’ve seen him around,” Natasha continued. “He hasn’t seemed exactly interested in speaking to me, which doesn’t bode well.”

“I’ll think on it and see if I can come up with anything,” Clint said. “I mean, I’ve got plenty of free time on my hands.”

Natasha grinned and leaned up to kiss him. “You have much less of that now that I’m done with my semester, Barton. Now that I’m free during the day, I’ll be needing some entertainment and distraction and I fully expect you to provide that.” 

“Well, it’s the least I can do after everything I’ve put you through lately,” he said after returning the kiss.

“Don’t think about it like that,” Natasha said, her tone gentle. “We’ve all been through a lot. How you’re holding up is just as important to me as how Sam’s coping with everything.”

“I’m coping,” he said, when he could finally properly formulate a response and was certain that his voice wouldn’t break because it was stupid to get this emotional over someone caring about him. “Seriously, Nat, I’m okay. The pain’s getting better. I’m on less and less medication each day. The nightmares aren’t that bad, nothing more than I’m used to anyways.”

“Good.” There was the slightest hint of relief in her voice. “I know that these past few days I’ve been more focused on Sam and surviving this semester…”

“And that’s fine,” Clint assured her. “You need to take care of yourself, Nat, and Sam’s needed both of us lately. I’m not as much of a mess as I seem to be.”

“You’re a walking disaster, Clint,” Natasha said, although the words were paired with a smile. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.” 

She went for another kiss when her phone chirped at her, stalling the moment for the time being. She glanced at the text message and her brow furrowed. Before Clint could ask what was wrong, she got to her feet.

“Loki’s requested a conversation. You good here for the time being?”

“Sam’s out, so I’m not going anywhere.” Clint gestured towards his lap where Sam snored softly. “If I need anything, I’ll ask Wanda.” He accentuated that statement by nodding towards the kitchen.

Natasha considered that. “Alright. I’ll be right back. Yell if you need anything.”

He watched her disappear into the hallway, listening to her footsteps move up the stairs, and then contented himself with stroking Sam’s hair when he moved somewhat restlessly. It was always hard to tell whether Sam was starting to wake up on his own, shifting in his sleep, or caught in the throes of a nightmare right away. It seemed like more often than not, if Clint were able to soothe him in some way, he tended to settle down regardless of what had triggered the agitation. 

So focused on Sam, he startled when a hand lightly touched his shoulder and nearly flung Sam off of his lap in the process. Somehow, despite everything, Sam appeared to sleep through that and continued sleeping on, completely undisturbed as Clint glanced back to see a sheepish-looking Wanda standing there.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No worries. I was lost in thought. You know how that goes. What’s up?”

“Nothing really.” She still kept her voice low despite the fact that Sam hadn’t responded at all to Clint’s spastic body movements or their conversation. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“That seems to be a trend tonight,” he said, softening any potential bite to his words with a smile. “I’m fine, kid. Just looking forward to the holidays at this point.” 

At the mention of the holidays, Wanda suddenly seemed nervous and twisted one of the chains on her necklaces around her finger. Clint gave her what he hoped was an expectant look to see if she might clue him into what was going on without him having to ask directly.

“Speaking of holidays,” she finally said, slowly, reluctantly. “We’ve been meaning to bring this up. Pietro and I wanted to celebrate Hanukah this year.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she flinched, almost as though she expected a blow – and damned if that wasn’t likely exactly what she was worried about. Clint recognized that look and that response. He’d seen it enough from his brother, sometimes also from the other foster kids he’d been with. Hell, he’d done it himself more than once. 

“Hey, easy there. ’Course you can. I don’t know anything about what that might entail or look like but we can figure it out and if you let us know what you want or need, we can do that. No worries. Alright?” When Wanda looked uncertain, he added, “I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. Not after adopting you.”

“You couldn’t have adopted us, we were 18 when you found us,” another voice chimed in from the direction of the stairs. 

Clint turned his head in that direction – considering the fact that at this rate, he was probably going to get whiplash – and found Pietro standing there, Darcy by his side. Clint hadn’t even heard them come down the stairs. Apparently, Pietro had grown much more comfortable around the household – and Darcy – given that he was currently dressed in his jeans and not much else, aside from the towel still draped around his neck. The tattooed wolf on his side had healed nicely, from what Clint could tell, and the kid had gone from being skin and bones to actually looking somewhat muscular.

“Technically, it was the day before your birthday,” Clint countered, glancing back at Wanda. 

Wanda just raised an eyebrow and suggested to Pietro, “Maybe you should put some clothes on.” 

“I was about to…” Pietro began, and then frowned and glanced towards the kitchen. “Wanda, is dinner burning?”

Wanda cursed and hurried back towards the kitchen.

“Please don’t burn down the house,” Clint begged.

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Wanda nearly stumbled and Pietro recoiled. It took Clint a moment to put the pieces together but when he did, he felt like an asshole. He knew what had happened to their adoptive mother – he’d also heard enough of the rumors about the death as well – and mentioning fire probably wasn’t exactly helpful.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Pietro said, equally as fast. “Anyways, what I was saying before Wanda almost ruined our dinner because she couldn’t handle seeing me without my shirt on - ”

“Because I don’t see any reason for my brother to be parading around half-naked,” Wanda countered, as she tried to salvage the food on the stove.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Darcy said with a sly smile.

“As I was saying before people kept interrupting me,” Pietro said, with what Clint was pretty sure was a mock scowl. “I got distracted from getting dressed because I heard Natasha on the phone and she sounds pissed as fuck. I don’t know what’s going on but I figured I should come downstairs to check in on everything.” 

Clint frowned and glanced towards the stairs. He knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him making his way up on his own, given that he had a non-functional arm and leg and even crawling wasn’t likely to be a plausible option. Normally, he would’ve asked Sam to help him but with Sam still asleep – which was its own problem because moving in any direction would require disrupting Sam’s rest – he wasn’t likely to have much assistance. Although Pietro’s biceps were looking feasibly strong enough to lift him…

A door upstairs slammed followed by the sound of Natasha’s footsteps heading back down the stairs. Unsurprisingly, given Pietro’s earlier assessment, she radiated anger, though her expression was tightly controlled. Whatever Loki had said to her clearly had gotten under her skin, which Clint already could have gathered if she’d become that angry with him while on the phone. Natasha wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize their plan by expressing that anger without Loki saying something that caused her pain. She thought through her actions far too well for anything else to have happened. 

“What happened?” Clint asked softly.

Natasha shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about. Suffice to say, that nice plan we had is fucked.”

Although he didn’t say it, all Clint could think was that it wasn’t a surprise. None of his plans recently had been working. He didn’t voice those concerns aloud though. He just motioned for Natasha to come back over and reclaim her spot near the couch. 

“We’ll worry about that later,” he said, his tone turning insistent when he saw Natasha on the verge of arguing. “C’mon. Tonight’s our celebration, right? You just survived this semester. Wanda cooked what might even be an edible dinner. Let’s focus on that for now.”

He threaded his fingers through her and after a few moments, the tension eased from her shoulders. He could almost feel her thoughts shift away from whatever Loki had said. He was vaguely aware of the twins quietly talking – mostly because there was a lack of English being spoken – and then he heard footsteps move towards the door.

Leaning back, he could see Pietro and Darcy standing by the doorway. He took the opportunity to tune back into their conversation. 

“You could stay for dinner,” Pietro said.

Darcy laughed and tugged lightly on a strand of Pietro’s freshly dyed hair. “Sorry, no can do, Silver Blaze. One of my profs gave the class an extension on our final paper and, sad to say, I took her up on it. I’ve got to go home and get that done. No worries, I’ll see you soon enough.”

Clint averted his gaze to give them privacy as Pietro leaned in to kiss her. In doing so, Clint just so happened to look over at Wanda who demonstrated her displeasure in the public display of affection by miming sticking her finger down her throat and then grinning at him. He returned the grin and resumed his focus on Natasha while the front door opened and closed and footsteps headed back up the stairs – theoretically belonging to Pietro who was hopefully getting himself properly dressed.

Clint tried to stay focused on Natasha – and the movie, which he’d put back on - although his thoughts were going a mile a minute as he reflected on their previous plan with Loki. He knew Natasha had been incredibly close to convincing Loki to tell her everything, which would have led to a taped confession if he hadn’t distracted her with his whole getting stalked through the library and almost murdered. Given the role he’d played in that, he was pretty sure that he needed to be the one to come up with some sort of answer for the dilemma they now found themselves in.

He had a feeling that the right answer was right in front of him but he was somehow just missing it, the whole tip of the tongue phenomenon or whatever. But there was the movie on the television and Natasha and Sam beside him and it was hard to keep his thoughts on sorting through a new plan when Pietro – now fully clothed - came bounding down the stairs and took a flying leap onto the other couch. He grinned brightly at Natasha, who Clint was pretty sure was giving him a vicious side-eye, and settled down to watch the movie. 

Wanda, meanwhile, handed out plates of spaghetti and garlic bread to everyone who was currently conscious – meaning that poor Sam was excluded for the time being – before settling down beside her brother who promptly decided that his sister would make a good footstool. Wanda responded by shoving Pietro’s legs off of her and then turning the tables and using him as her footstool. He grumbled but accepted that without major argument before returning his attention to the movie.

The twins seemed the most relaxed and at ease they’d been in awhile, if ever, and Clint had seen more personality from each of them. Pietro seemed to be getting snarkier by the day, although somehow it managed to be more endearing than irritating, and Wanda was developing a quiet sense of confidence and poise. Although the biggest change was how comfortable the two of them looked. They’d gone from looking panicked in response to each and every noise and preparing to bolt at any sign of threat to laughing and joking without any hint of the hypervigilance he’d grown used to seeing from them. 

It was in that moment, while Clint reflected on the twins, that the idea came to him all at once. He must have let out an exclamation in his excitement, given that both Sam and Natasha startled – Sam blearily blinking up at Clint, while Natasha just tilted her head back and surveyed him curiously – and across the way, the twins stared at him in confusion. 

He tried to explain himself but all he could manage to ask was, “Natasha, do you still have Jane’s number?” 

-~-

There was definitely something to be said for coming home to find dinner cooked and a very nicely muscled blonde god waiting there for her. She greeted Thor with a kiss before depositing her bag on the floor and settling down at the table, where the beginning of a four-course meal appeared to be waiting for her, judging by the number of plates already there and the others she could see sitting on the kitchen counter. 

She picked up a glass of wine and took a sip before saying, “I got carried away in the lab. I’d just meant to stay late to grade the finals but then one thing led to another and I wanted to see to take advantage of the empty room and whiteboard and see if I could run some new calculations. I didn’t realize what time it was until you texted me to check in.” 

“That’s fine, Jane,” he said easily. “It allowed me to finish preparing the meal. Now I have the opportunity to enjoy this time with you.”

Despite how often she experienced it, Thor’s patience with her and her lifestyle continued to amaze her. He took everything in stride and despite the fact that he’d had his own finals to contend with, he’d also done his best to do little things for her, whether that was stopping by the lab to drop off a drink with plenty of shots of espresso, picking her up after working a shift at the café, or cooking dinner, as he had this evening. He didn’t seem to mind when she told him that she needed to spend a few more hours working on her dissertation; he merely settled down nearby and gave her space until it was well after midnight, at which time he coaxed her to bed. 

“Doesn’t your family mind that you’re never home anymore?” she asked.

Thor laughed. “They’re fine with it. Our parents travel often and my brother, certainly, doesn’t mind the space.”

“And you don’t mind having much less space?” she questioned, glancing around her studio apartment.

It certainly didn’t help that she’d never packed up her bed from that morning so there was literally no room to walk around in, save for the small area between the meager dining room table and the kitchen. 

“I am fine with anything that allows me to spend my time with you,” he said, reaching for her hand and entwining his fingers with hers.

She smiled at him and before she could offer some sort of response, her phone chimed. She refused to pick it up, at least until dinner had ended, but it brought to mind something she had meant to ask Thor about earlier and forgotten. 

“Speaking of spending time together, how would you feel about having Darcy join us for brunch tomorrow?” she asked. 

“I’d be fine with that,” Thor said. “It’s been awhile since we’ve both gotten to see her.” 

“I know. I’m not sure what’s been going on with her lately. I think she might just have a new man in her life from the hints she’s been dropping and the occasional hickey I’ve seen on her neck when she’s come in for her daily caffeine fix over the past week. I’m hoping she might be willing to tell us about him one of these days.”

Her phone chimed again and Jane stifled a sigh. She had no idea who – aside from Darcy – might be texting her that urgently but the last thing she wanted to do was take any more time away from her evening with Thor. She continued to stubbornly refuse to remove it from the front pocket of her bag and instead focused entirely on the meal in front of her. 

Thor asked about the new direction to her research and she shared the details with him as they moved from one course of the meal to the next in the process, and found herself wondering – not for the first time – how she became lucky enough to have this man in her life. Not only had she been spared from living off of Ramen throughout this semester, but he’d proven himself to be an excellent partner in all the ways that were important. Despite the fact that he was studying a completely different field than her, he was always open to discussing her research and offering suggestions or asking clarifying questions when he could. 

She’d almost forgotten about the earlier text messages by the time they reached dessert – a delicious crème brulee that left her wondering where Thor had possibly gotten a cooking torch and how he’d managed not to set off her brilliantly placed smoke alarm with that (a basically one room apartment meant that it was right beside the kitchen, of course) – when her phone stopped chirping and instead started ringing. 

Reluctantly, she reached for her bag and drew out her phone, apologizing to Thor as she glanced at the caller ID. She frowned, surprised by the number she saw there, and answered. 

“Hello, this is Jane Foster.”

“Hi, Jane,” Natasha’s voice said on the other line. “It’s me.”

“I figured. What’s going on?”

“Are you alone?” Natasha asked, which Jane found to be a slightly disquieting question.

“I’m having dinner with Thor.” She glanced across the table at him, certain that his look of confusion was mirrored on her own face.

“Where?” Natasha asked and Jane hoped against hope that Natasha wasn’t asking because she was considering joining them.

“At my apartment,” Jane said slowly. “Seriously, Natasha, what’s going on?” 

“Put me on speaker phone,” Natasha said, without answering the question. “I think it would be good for you and Thor to hear this.” 

Jane cast a disappointed look at her abandoned crème brulee and then placed the phone in the center of the table, explaining to Thor, “Natasha wants to speak with both of us” before she hit the speaker phone button. “Alright, we’re here.”

“Hey, Thor,” Natasha greeted him, and he responded in kind. “This is about the plan we’d made before, the one involving Loki. We’ve met with a complication.” 

“What’s that?” Thor asked.

“To make a long story short, the plan is 110% completely fucked. Your brother seems to be onto me and that means that we need to make a new plan. Clint came up with a brilliant idea but I’m not sure either one of you are going to agree to it.” 

“How is Clint doing, by the way?” Jane asked, unable to care that she was derailing the conversation, partially because she legitimately wanted to know about Clint’s condition but also because she had a very, very bad feeling about this plan.

“He’s doing much better,” Natasha said, her tone a bit distracted. “Mostly just grumpy because it’s hard for him to get around. But he’s alright.” 

“That’s good,” Jane said, and then finally relented and asked, “So, what’s this plan?”

“We want you to manipulate Loki,” Natasha said bluntly. “I think you can do it and I’ll be there coaching you through every step of the way.” 

As Jane considered the request, it occurred to her that earlier that day she’d been thinking that everything major and stressful in her life was thankfully behind her with the end of the semester. It would appear that she had been wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, again, for the delay in these chapters. Speaking of the end of the semester, as seemed to be the common thread in this chapter, I just had my final graduate class ever (AFTER SIX YEARS) this past Monday. I still have clinical work and teaching responsibilities that needs to be completed but I am currently about 95% done with that and 75% done on packing, since we move next week. 
> 
> With where things stand right now, I am hopeful to have the next chapter out within the week because I have already written about half and I have two plane flights (one this evening) over the next few days, which usually allows me plenty of time to write. Right now, I am anticipating about 7-8 chapter until completion, which is so much more than I'd originally expected. All of those chapters are fully plotted and outlined, so it's just a matter of having time to write. Given that at least one of the upcoming weeks will be spent on a farm in the middle of nowhere, I'm hopeful that I will be quite productive then!


	34. With a Thousand Lies and a Good Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has a successful therapy appointment and bros out with Sam, Wanda (finally) gets her tattoo, and Jane manipulates Loki with Natasha's assistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so very sorry for my delay in posting this chapter. Life has been chaotic the past few weeks for both myself and my beta-reader and we have been absolutely exhausted. While I would like to say that the next chapter is almost ready to go, that sadly is not the case because after the bachelorette party weekend and everything else, I have basically slept for 12 hours these past two days. However, I am hoping that I will have the time to work on it over the next few days before the wedding this weekend (because we're getting married)! Worst case scenario, me and my fiancee/then wife/and beta-reader are roadtripping from Florida next week and I might try to dictate parts of the next chapter to her while she edits it in real time.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story! There are still about 6 chapters to go and, of course, a sequel!

“You’re looking good, James.” 

Bucky settled back in the chair and allowed himself a bit of pride in response to Dr. Jones’ words. He’d been doing a much better job taking care of himself; getting a proper amount of sleep at night, eating healthy meals, and his constant level of anxiety had been almost at a manageable level.

He’d even hit up the gym with Sam that morning. While lifting weights hadn’t been in the cards given that his right arm was still healing and he hadn’t wanted to do anything to jeopardize that, he’d managed a bit of light cardio. The thought of going to the gym, even with Sam by his side, had been anxiety-provoking to begin with but the gym hadn’t been overly crowded at that early hour. After the first few minutes, he hadn’t even needed to focus on deep breathing or grounding himself. While he recognized that the combination of anxiety and physical exertion had the possibility of tipping his good day into a bad one, he also realized that if he didn’t take advantage of these moments, he’d be restricting his life all the more. That was something he was no longer willing to do.

Overall, it had just been nice to feel normal again. Definitely worth the potential consequences and thus far – he refrained from knocking on wood as he thought it – he was feeling energized, not rundown. 

“Thanks, doc,” he said easily. “I’m feeling pretty good too.” 

“I got that sense,” Dr. Jones agreed. “I had also noticed that your attire was a bit surprising today, given the weather.”

Bucky glanced down at himself, as though he weren’t already aware that he was dressed in a tank top and jeans. 

“Don’t worry,” he said with a slight grin. “I’ve got a sweatshirt and jacket with me. I just left them in the waiting room with Sam.” 

“I was hoping you hadn’t walked here dressed like that. What led to this choice?” 

Bucky knew by now that Dr. Jones wasn’t the sort to make many attributions himself but rather preferred to guide Bucky towards his own answers and realizations, which meant that he was studiously refraining from commenting on the new design on Bucky’s arm. So Bucky commented on it for him.

“I had Steve do some work on me,” he explained. “We’d talked about a tattoo but this seemed like the right direction to go in. It’s only been a couple days but ever since he completed the piece, I’ve felt different. More confident. Less disconnected from my arm.” 

“It sounds as though this allowed you to feel more like the arm is a part of you instead of separate,” Dr. Jones said.

“Yeah, that’s it entirely. Even my scars don’t bother me as much now. I used to keep my arm covered up as much as I could and even when I became more comfortable with wearing t-shirts and stuff, I still felt awkward about the scars. Now though… it feels less… less like I’m damaged.”

“You feel more accepting of yourself as a whole.”

Bucky nodded. “I do. I know I still have further to go but I don’t just feel like a broken shell now. I feel like a person. Not the person I was before – and I know now that I can never go back to that – but a new person nonetheless. I know that some days are going to be better than others and that just because I’m feeling okay now doesn’t mean I’ll still feel the same in another day or week or hour… but I’m more okay with that. That’s probably easier to say now when I’m feeling great than it will be then but I’ll handle it when it happens.”

“James, I’m very impressed with the progress you’ve made,” Dr. Jones said genuinely. “I know it’s been a hard road for you but you’ve put in a lot of work and made some significant strides.”

“Yeah, I have,” Bucky said, surprising himself with his willingness to take credit rather than placing it on Dr. Jones or Steve or anyone else in his life. “I wasn’t so sure that moving here was the right idea, even though I knew distance and change might be good to get me out of the hole I’d fallen into. At the beginning, nothing really changed except for the fact that I was out of my parents’ house and living in what Natasha still affectionately refers to as ‘the crack den.’ I barely left the apartment and moving in with Natasha at the townhouse just meant that when I did leave, I only left when I was with her and I knew the place we were going to. I had panic attacks on a daily basis, the nightmares were almost constant, and it didn’t seem that I was making any progress.”

“What do you think led to the change?” Dr. Jones asked.

Bucky stopped for a moment to reflect on that and then slowly said, “I think there were a lot of things. My support group here has been amazing, especially with the addition to Steve in my life. I definitely think dating Steve has helped because the showed me that I could still form those relationships, which I wasn’t so sure I could since the only person I was that close with was Natasha and we already had a history. I believe those changes and realizations, as well as having more time pass to adjust to my new life, helped me to start challenging myself more. Doing things out of my comfort zone, really using all of the skills I’d been taught in therapy. Trying to focus more on the positives in my life than the negatives.”

“From what I’ve seen and heard from you, both in previous sessions and today, it sounds as though you’ve changed your outlook.”

“I definitely have.”

Dr. Jones surveyed him for a long moment. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, James, but from what I’m hearing, it sounds as though you feel that your anxiety is much more under control, your relationship is going well, and you are not experiencing any significant distress at this time.”

“I’m really not,” Bucky said, when he couldn’t argue against that statement. “Yeah, all of that’s correct.”

“Then I have an idea to propose,” Dr. Jones said. “I know you’d mentioned in previous sessions that you would be returning home for the holidays. I was thinking that it might make sense for this to be our last session until you return from your travels. Certainly if you experience any concerns between then and now, we can schedule something sooner, even a phone session if you aren’t in town, but it sounds like you are in a good place and as though we might even want to consider moving towards completion of treatment, depending of course on how this break goes.”

Bucky felt a flicker of anxiety, but it was only slight. If he’d heard those words weeks ago, definitely months ago, he would have likely had a panic attack on the spot. However, the thought of no longer being in treatment didn’t seem quite so scary now. He recognized that he’d gone weeks before without difficulty – although that was, in large part, due to physical injuries and unfortunate life events and, really, there had been difficulty – but he knew this time was different. He had the support and he didn’t see any reason why that would be a problem.

“I think I like that idea. Let’s see how it goes.” 

Dr. Jones smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. In that case, let’s see what we can do to prepare you for the long break.”

Bucky settled back in his chair, a bit surprised by how relaxed he felt despite the idea of moving away from the support of therapy. Suddenly that didn’t seem like quite an outlandish notion. He already had the tools, he was using them, and things were working. Now it was time to develop some extra plans in case his current methods of coping stopped working quite as effectively with the added stresses of the holidays.

-~-

Steve was frazzled. He really shouldn’t have been but finalizing his plans to stay with Bucky for a few days in New York surrounding New Year’s Eve meant missing a solid ten days of work with the additional Christmas holiday. As always seemed to happen around the holidays, everyone in the city seemed to want to get a tattoo and particularly with his pro bono tattoos for the twins, his schedule was pretty tightly filled. This was especially true given that Bucky and Clint were still out – though, in Bucky’s case, if Tony could come through and resolve that difficulty with the complaint, at least he would be physically cleared to return to work sooner rather than later. Right now though, Steve was the only one working and trying to keep the shop financially afloat. 

It didn’t help that Darcy was much less focused than usual, which wouldn’t have bothered him except for the fact that in the wake of everything else, he couldn’t double check all of her responsibilities. The last thing Steve wanted was for something to slip through the cracks. Hell, that was the last thing the shop needed. If it weren’t for Tony’s continued unconditional support, the shop would have already been a sinking ship.

As a result, he had never been as relieved to see Bucky come through the front door, cheeks red from the cold. While Bucky wasn’t able to work his trade until the complaint against him was resolved – and Steve really, really needed to talk to Stark about that seeing as it had been a goddamn month - he could help out at the front desk and around the shop.

Bucky was laughing as he stepped inside, followed closely behind by Sam, and his face lit up when he saw Steve. Steve had admittedly felt a bit guilty when Bucky left for his psych appointment that morning, but Bucky had assured him that he would be fine and that Sam would also be coming along with him, since they were planning on hitting up the gym earlier in the morning and getting breakfast afterwards. 

Steve had to admit that he had still been a little worried – while Bucky had made remarkable progress, he still struggled at times and a crowded gym and exercise seemed primed to be potential triggers. Though judging by his expression, everything had gone well and as far as Steve was concerned, this marked another victory for Bucky’s transformation.

Bucky crossed the distance between them and pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” Steve returned. “You’re looking happy.”

“And you’re looking frazzled,” Bucky said, ruffling Steve’s hair – to which Steve swatted at Bucky’s hand and Bucky merely laughed. “What’s going on?”

“Chaotic morning,” Steve said with a sigh. “You up for helping Darcy man the front desk while I go back for my appointments?”

“Of course. I can go where I’m needed.”

“What would I do without you?” Steve murmured, offering Bucky a grin before kissing him once more. “I’ll be in the office if you need me. It’s Wanda’s turn to get tattooed today.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his expression curious.” I can’t wait to see it.” He turned to Wanda, who was perched on the counter behind Steve. “You excited, kid?”

“Super excited,” Wanda said, nodding vigorously. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this.” 

“You willing to share your design or is it a surprise?”

“It’s a surprise,” Wanda said with a grin. “But I’ll be sure to show it off as soon as it’s finished.” 

“And with that, we should head on back,” Steve suggested. “Darcy’s got all of your forms in order and you ate this morning, right?” When Wanda nodded, he added, “Glad to see you didn’t make the same mistake as your brother.”

Pietro glared from where he stood beside Darcy and said, “Fuck off” mildly and without venom. 

“Easy, kid,” Steve said. “I’m guessing you’re coming with us?” 

“Of course I am,” Pietro snapped.

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Pietro, for his part, kissed Darcy’s cheek before heading over to where his sister was settled on the counter. To Wanda, he offered his hand to help her down, and kept his arm around her once she stood beside him. Steve resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be spending the next several hours with Pietro staring at him in ways that promised death if he did anything to hurt Wanda. 

Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder and said, “Good luck” before heading over to join Darcy and get to work.

“You staying, Sam?” Steve asked, when he realized that Sam had wandered over to survey some of the newer additions to the books of artwork.

He nodded. “I’m somehow magically off for the day. I figured I’d hang around, spend some time at the shop, harass your employees, consider whether to get another tattoo in the future.” 

“Sounds good. Keep Bucky and Darcy out of trouble for me.”

“You have no faith in us, boss,” Darcy sighed. 

“You really don’t,” Bucky agreed. “We haven’t burned down the shop yet, right?”

“Yet being the operative word,” Darcy said cheerfully.

“Looks like you’ll have your hands full, Sam.” Steve turned to the twins. “Alright, let’s head back.” 

The two of them followed close behind him, this time seeming much more settled as they entered his office. Having already seen her brother get tattooed – and her brother, of course, having experienced it firsthand – Wanda went straight for the chair in the middle of the room. She hesitated the slightest bit once she approached it, recognizing that unlike her brother, who had sprawled out on his side, another position might be necessary in her case, given that Steve would be working on her upper back and neck.

“Where should I sit?” she asked. 

“Just lean forward against the chair,” Steve recommended. “Find a position that’s comfortable, since we’ll be here for awhile.”

Wanda slipped off her sweatshirt, revealing a simple red tank top underneath. She shrugged the strap off her right shoulder and twisted her hair – which, Steve noticed for the first time, had been streaked with purple and black – off of her neck and into a messy bun. He also saw that her previously unpierced ears - a fact he could never forget given that her cover story when they tried to rob the place was that she was looking for piercings – now had two holes in the right and three in the left. He questioned who might have been willing to provide those piercings to her, since they didn’t appear to have been done at home with a needle and several ice cubes. But he didn’t let his mind go too far in that direction because he had a sneaking suspicion who might have done that. 

He couldn’t keep his gaze from shifting across the skin of her back, looking for similar markings to the ones that decorated her brother’s flesh. There was no doubt in his mind that both of the twins had been subject to horrendous abuse and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see the signs on her body as well. From what he could see though, none of her upper back held any scars, which was likely a good thing for the pain level she would need to anticipate from the tattoo. Of course, that didn’t mean that there weren’t other scars that he couldn’t see.

He was pulled way from those unsettling thoughts when Pietro, who had wrinkled his nose when Wanda slipped down the one strap, asked, “Is she going to have to strip like I did? Because I might peace out if that’s the case.” 

“That’s sexist if it’s totally okay for you to run around with your shirt off but I can’t be seen in a bra,” Wanda countered. “Because it’s not like you’ve ever walked around topless. But, no, the shirt is staying on. Steve just needs to be able to work on my right shoulder.”

“Then I guess I’ll stay,” Pietro said, tugging one of the wheelie chairs over and sitting on it backwards in what seemed to Steve a clear act of defiance against conventional standards of behavior.

The twins continued snarking as Steve finished setting up his equipment. Wanda got herself settled on the chair, which in retrospect wasn’t the best option given that she’d need to get up once the stencil was on her back and she could make certain the tattoo was positioned to her liking. Pietro wheeled the chair closer and reached for Wanda’s hand, despite the fact that there would be some time before the actual tattooing process started. 

Steve ignored the fact that he was likely to be getting a death-glare from Pietro throughout the entire procedure as he finished his pre-tattoo ritual of checking his equipment and making certain he had everything set up. He’d already talked to both of the twins about what this process would entail and made certain that Wanda was fully aware of the pain of having a tattoo over her spine. Instead of dwelling on any of Pietro’s reactions to watching his sister’s tattoo completed, he made sure his stencil was prepared, the area where the tattoo would be going was washed off, and then he transferred the stencil to Wanda’s skin. 

She obligingly straightened up from her carefully sought after comfortable position when Steve told her to check out the stencil and her look of sheer joy upon seeing it was worth the hours he’d spent perfecting his technique so that he could manage the design she’d asked for. As she got herself settled once more, he reviewed the number and quantity of ink he’d placed out, ascertaining that all of the colors necessary for the final image were there and ready to go. Then, as Wanda and Pietro watched, he removed the sterilized needles from their package and inserted them in the tattoo machine. 

“You ready?” Steve asked and when Wanda nodded, he continued, “I’m going to be starting with the cage on your shoulder and then work my way up to the bird on the back of your neck. As we’ve talked about before, the pain level is going to increase when I start working on the back of your neck. I’ll be talking you through everything, giving you an idea of what’s about to happen, and I’m counting on you to let me know if you need a break.” 

“I will,” Wanda promised.

Steve could see some nervousness in her eyes but overall she just appeared to be excited. He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and got started. He felt her flinch the slightest bit beneath his hand when the needles first entered her skin but within a few moments, her muscles unclenched and she exhaled a pent up breath.

“Keep breathing,” he recommended. “Nice and even.” 

The first image came alive beneath his hand within moments. Compared to the later images, this one was easy: a birdcage with an open door, done entirely in black, decorating Wanda’s right shoulder blade. The next image came fairly smoothly as well, this one of a flying bird, done primarily in black but with hints of color on the wings.

After that, things became a bit trickier. The next two birds were the hardest, at least thus far, as each one had progressively more color on them. Wanda had requested them to look painted, as if done in watercolor, and balancing that with the continued use of black as well – although each successive bird had progressively less black and more color on it than the previous one – was a difficult task to make. 

Steve hadn’t told Bucky what it was for but over the past week, the apartment had been decorated in paintings of birds in watercolor until Steve had the image solidly in his mind. Given that it had been the end of the semester, Bucky had assumed that it was part of Steve’s final portfolio, at least until he’d seen the end product of that, and when he’d asked, Steve had just said that it was a new tattoo design for one of his clients. 

He wasn’t sure why Wanda had requested the secrecy for the time being but he wasn’t about to violate that.

As he finished up the detail on the third flying bird, he sat back, rolling his shoulders and clenching and unclenching his free hand. Wanda had remained still and quiet overall. After the fiasco with her brother’s tattoo, he’d been careful to check in every so often and make certain that she was doing as well as she appeared to be doing.

“Want to take a bit of a break before we get started on the last one?”

“I’m good to keep going,” Wanda said quickly. “But if you need a break, I’m fine with that.” 

“Alright,” Steve said agreeably. “Give me a minute or two to get my hands in full working order and then we’ll finish up the last one. You doing okay?”

“Yes, I’ve been fine,” Wanda said, sounding a bit surprised as she said the words. “It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. It mostly felt like a light scraping sensation. Pietro said that his felt like thousands of bee stings and worse, so I’d prepared myself for that.” 

“The last one will be more painful,” Steve cautioned. “It’s going on the back of your neck and when I start tattooing over your spine, trust me, you’ll feel it.” 

“Then I’ll just hold onto my brother’s hand,” Wanda said serenely. “I can handle it. The pain won’t stop me.” 

“I didn’t expect you to say anything else,” Steve said, flexing his hands a few more times. “Alright then, let’s finish up.”

Her fingers tightened around her Pietro’s hand as Steve worked on the final part on the back of her neck. She must have been gritting her teeth – he couldn’t tell from the part of her face that he could see – because she didn’t make a sound. Trusting that she would let him know if she needed a break, he focused his full attention on the task. This part of the tattoo was going to the hardest, in order to achieve the full watercolor effect Wanda was looking for, and he didn’t want to make any mistakes because his concentration wasn’t there. 

The image came alive beneath his hands: the bird’s wings extended, the entire body a blur of colors – reds, purples, blues, and greens – with only the slightest hints of black to provide the outline of the throat. Faster than he would have expected, the tattoo was finished and he leaned back to survey his work in full. Despite the fact that he’d held the image in his mind the entire time, it was different to now be viewing everything together, as his primary focus had been on the current part of the image he’d been completing.

“You know, you’d originally said this would be a small tattoo with just a few alterations,” he said lightly, his tone designed to be joking.

“I know,” Wanda said uncertainly. “I hope the changes didn’t cause any problems…”

“Not at all, Wanda. To be honest, yours and your brother’s tattoos might have been my favorite ones to work on in a long time.” 

Her face lit up at that. “Really?”

“Really. If you’re ready, you can see it. Tell me what you think.” 

“It’s done?” Before he could even answer, she scrambled upright – and Pietro immediately leapt to his feet and moved closer.

Steve cautioned, “Easy there, kid, I don’t need you passing out on me like your brother did.” 

Although Wanda swayed the slightest bit, enough that Pietro wrapped his arm around her waist, she quickly said, “I’m fine. I just want to see them.” 

She walked over to the mirrors and turned to see her back. The expression on her face as she saw the full piece reflected back at her – the starkly done open cage with the four birds flying from it, each bird highlighted with more and more color until reaching the final one on the back of her neck, done in full watercolor style – gave him the sense that she was completely overwhelmed but that he’d given her the exact piece that she wanted.

Her eyes shimmered and she choked out, “Thank you” before burying her face against her brother’s shoulder. 

In order to give them as much privacy as he could given that he was still in the room, Steve set about clearing and cleaning up the space, disposing of everything that qualified as hazardous waste in the proper container, and washing his hands despite the fact that he’d been wearing gloves the entire time, before he headed for the door. 

Pietro was threading his fingers carefully through his sister’s hair and murmuring quietly to her in definitely not English. Wanda’s shoulders shook in a way that suggested she was now crying in earnest.

He paused long enough to say, “Take as long as you two need” before stepping out and closing the door behind him. 

-~-

“You’re sure I’m the one who should be doing this?”

Jane recognized that her voice held a hint of panic, which wasn’t surprising because she was definitely nervous at this point. When Natasha’s voice came through the communication device in her ear – which felt weird and Jane still couldn’t quite get over the fact that Natasha apparently had access to all sorts of strange equipment – she had to force herself not to jump in surprise despite the fact that Natasha’s voice was calming and gentle.

“Jane, you’re an astrophysicist with two Master’s degrees, three Bachelor’s degrees, and a soon to be doctorate. Trust me, you can do this.” 

“Alright, yes, I know I’m smart,” Jane countered. “But I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

“So it’s a learning experience. Besides, you work at a coffee shop. Anyone who works with the public on a regular basis already knows how to read people’s body language and respond accordingly. You have the skills already, I’m just going to be helping you use them to your advantage.” 

“I’m not sure how focused I’m going to be on the task at hand with these contacts in my eyes,” Jane muttered. 

Natasha had explained that while the communication device would allow for her to hear everything said and to give Jane directions of what to say and do, she would be missing the body language element. To prevent that from being the case, she’d given Jane a pair of contacts that apparently allowed for video transmission or something like that to take place, which would give her constant visual information about the situation unfolding. For Jane, who’d never even worn glasses let alone contacts, the sensation of wearing these felt alien and unnatural, despite the fact that she recognized it would only last so long.

She’d asked Natasha where she’d gotten all of this equipment and been given the simple statement of, “It’s my father’s.” Jane knew better than to question further. With all of the rumors about Natasha, she didn’t want to press too hard. Besides, if this plan worked, she wasn’t about to complain about the high tech equipment. If anything, she was curious about whether she’d have a chance to examine the equipment more in-depth once they were finished. Really, it was fascinating stuff.

“Try not to think about them,” Natasha suggested. “The more you think about them, the more uncomfortable it’s going to be. Now stop stalling. It’s going to seem as though something’s wrong if you arrive to dinner late.” 

Jane took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and headed for the stairs. The past several days had been spent laying the seeds for tonight, with her and Thor having minor disagreements and communication difficulties while in Loki’s presence. Nothing too overt, given that Natasha’s ploy had been to stage that fight with Clint in order to get close to Loki. Natasha had made it clear that employing the same techniques in Jane’s case would likely raise suspicion; however, Natasha – and Jane herself, if she were to be honest – were reasonably certain given Loki’s jealousy towards his brother alone, if small chips were starting to show in Thor’s relationship with Jane, Loki would definitely take advantage of that.

Entering the dinning room while the meal was already in progress was a bit intimidating on the best of days. While she had interacted with Thor’s and Loki’s father and mother on a handful of occasions, she continued to feel nervous in their presence. Their father had been straight-faced and difficult to read and although their mother had been warmer and more welcoming, Jane still didn’t know how to act around them. That was likely aided by the fact that her opportunities to spend time with them were minimal – with their father’s position, he was frequently engaged in long meetings or completing work out of the country and his wife often joined him for these engagements and on these trips.

Tonight, thankfully, both of them were out. As far as Jane knew, both had flown out that morning and despite their absence, dinner was being held in the dining room. Given that Jane associated the dinning room with awkward family dinners, stepping in there was already unnerving and doubly so, given that their plan was going to be fully enacted during this meal.

She kept her head up as she walked in, despite her nervousness, and only paused for half a step when she saw Thor and Loki already sitting there, untouched plates of food in front of both of them and a third plate waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for being late,” she said, as she took her seat. “I was working on my dissertation and almost finished with my latest chapter. I didn’t want to lose my focus or motivation to finish.”

“I thought you’d already finished that,” Thor commented. 

“That was the last one,” she said patiently. “This is the next one.” 

Thor sighed. “It just seems that you’re always working.” 

“You knew I was a doctoral student when you started dating me,” Jane said with mild exasperation. “The fact that I’m constantly working shouldn’t come as a surprise to you.”

“Really, brother, that is most unfair to Jane,” Loki spoke up. “She is a bright and talented woman. If she has responsibilities for her studies, you should respect that.”

“I do respect that, Loki,” Thor said, a bit tersely. “I was merely expressing my desire to spend more time with her.” 

“I thought we spent plenty of time together,” Jane said, trying to wrinkle her brow in confusion. “Every waking moment that I’m not spending writing my dissertation or grading papers and tests or working at the coffee shop is spent with you. I believed, until now, at least, that that was enough for you.” 

“Maybe I’m now realizing that it isn’t,” Thor said quietly. He looked between Jane and Loki and then pushed his chair back and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take my dinner elsewhere.” 

Jane bit her lower lip as she watched him go. Despite the fact that she knew everything he’d just said had been scripted, there was a part of her that wondered if there was any veracity to those words. She didn’t have as much time for Thor as she would have preferred and despite his constant and consistent promises that he was fine with that and understood that and wanted to see her succeed in all of her goals and dreams, she sometimes wondered if he did ever become frustrated with her schedule and lack of availability.

Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that though. While her concern meant that her reaction did not have to be forced to appear as genuine, she also couldn’t afford to be thrown off her game. Now that Thor had stepped out of the room, everything was up to her. 

Natasha spoke into the earpiece at that moment. “Good job, Jane. Don’t say anything yet. Keep your eyes lowered on your plate as though you’re trying to avoid Loki seeing how upset Thor made you.” 

There were several uncomfortable seconds before Loki took the bait and spoke, his voice soft and gentle. “I’m sorry for my brother. You did not deserve to have him speak to you like that. It is a shame that he doesn’t seem to respect you. It is a foolish man to place a commodity like time spent together above achievement.” 

“Tell him that his brother is right,” Natasha recommended. “But also acknowledge your frustration with Thor. Don’t make this seem easy for him to cause dissention between you two.”

“No, your brother has a point,” Jane said, raising her eyes from the plate to focus on Loki. “I know I work a lot but I don’t really have a choice. Grad school isn’t exactly inexpensive and while making coffee isn’t exactly great for paying the bills, the shop’s always given me the freedom to make my own schedule. Combine that with teaching undergrad classes to help pay off my tuition and then taking classes of my own and there just aren’t enough hours in the day for everything I want to do. I just thought your brother understood that and accepted it. I didn’t realize how frustrated he’d become with me.” 

“My brother is… fickle,” Loki said, pausing for a long moment as though struggling with word. “His affections come and go. To be honest, I was amazed that he maintained his interest for you as long as he did.” 

Jane didn’t even need Natasha’s guidance in formulating a response to that. “What are you saying? Your brother isn’t like that at all.”

“Good,” Natasha said, agreeing with Jane’s assessment of the situation. “Defend Thor. Make this difficult for Loki. Make it a challenge. He likes challenges.” 

“I’m afraid that he is,” Loki said, his tone gentle and persuasive. “You have only known him for a matter of months, Jane. I have known him for almost my entire life and I have seen him with his girlfriends in the past. He becomes interested very quickly but soon that interest begins to fade. No one is ever good enough for him. He searches for reasons to end the relationship. It appears that is exactly what he is doing with you. Once upon a time, he was fine with you working long hours and willing to enjoy the moments you could share together. Now that is something that bothers him, that he is not willing to accept, and it will not be long before he decides to end the relationship.” 

“Take the bait,” Natasha recommended. “Let Loki see how uncertain his words have made you.” 

Jane swallowed hard and allowed her voice to waiver. “That… that can’t be true. He has never been like that with me. He has never shown me anything but caring and affection and a desire to support me with my work.”

“That is what he has been doing,” Loki agreed. “But now you see that a shift is occurring and, mark my words, it will play out exactly as I have been telling you it will. He will become bored with you, with the lack of time you can spend together. He may have already become bored. Have you checked his phone recently? Seen if he has been conversing with any other women? You are not around a considerable amount of the time, Jane, and Thor has difficulty maintaining his attention on one woman when she is able to give him all of her attention and affection.” 

“Ask him if there is something he knows that you don’t,” Natasha suggested. “Let him see that you are considering this option.” 

“Have you seen him with someone else?” Jane asked bluntly. “Is there something I should know, Loki? Something that you know about your brother?” 

Loki sighed heavily. “I’m afraid there is.”

She couldn’t help the wholly irrational, paranoid thought that crept into her mind. Was it possible that there was something that Loki knew? 

Jane forced those thoughts from her mind. She knew how Loki operated and, more than that, she knew Thor. He was kind and trustworthy and the last thing he would do was cheat on her with another woman. He’d been ever so patient with her and her schedule and was always there when she openly told him that she needed support and even the times when she hadn’t told him but really truthfully needed help, whether it was to aid in grading exams or to bring her lunch or dinner in the lab. Loki was just manipulating her, finding her areas of fear and weakness, and trying to use that against her.

With Loki’s next words, she had no further doubts that that was exactly the case. “I don’t really know how to say this, Jane, because I recognize that it is a betrayal on multiple levels for you. But I have been seeing Thor spend a considerable amount of time with your friend Darcy recently.”

There was an element of relief in Natasha’s voice when she next spoke, which gave Jane the sense that even Natasha may have feared that Loki had actual blackmail material on his brother. “Alright, we both know that Darcy and Thor aren’t doing anything behind your back but you can’t let Loki know that you know that. Let him see some uncertainty, some fear, that he may be right, while also balancing that with your trust in your best friend and boyfriend.”

“Darcy?” Jane echoed. “No, she wouldn’t do that. Thor wouldn’t do that.” Then she dropped the proverbial hook in the water as she realized this was the best possible situation she could be in to get Loki. “But she has… she has been seeing someone. I don’t know who, she won’t tell me his name, but I’ve seen hickeys on her neck.” 

Loki took the bait perfectly. “Exactly, Jane. There’s a reason she wouldn’t tell you who she’s been seeing. I mean, why else would she be keeping that from you? You’re her best friend. She would be thrilled to tell you about the new man in her life but she can’t… because that man is your boyfriend.” 

“Reel him in, Jane,” Natasha said. “I know you’ve got this.”

Surprisingly, Jane knew she had this entire situation in hand herself. Loki had given her the perfect scenario to work with because Thor and Darcy were both above suspicion. She had the perfect opening to bring Steve into the conversation.

She stood up, shoving her chair back and getting to her feet. “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you at all because I trust both of them implicitly. But… but maybe I should talk to Darcy. Maybe also Steve. He’s with her for 90% of the day at work and if there was something going on, he’d be the one to know.” 

Loki’s lip curled and he nearly spat out Steve’s name as he said it,” Steve Rogers. I don’t know why everyone here seems to think that boy is a saint.”

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Jane asked, not even waiting for Natasha to say anything. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me that he’s sleeping with Thor too.” 

“No, I would never accuse him of something like that,” Loki agreed. “However, I would not be surprised to find out that he knew all about Darcy and Thor’s illicit relationship and was helping them to hide that from you.” 

“What reason would he have to do that?” Jane asked, hoping that Natasha’s silence wasn’t a result of her responding too fast and instead an indication that she was taking this conversation in the right direction. 

“He cares for Darcy,” Loki said reasonably. “She’s his friend, he wants her to be happy.”

The logic for that wasn’t refutable and all at once, Jane had no idea where to take this. She knew that the end goal was to get Loki talking about Steve but what could she possibly say that would make Loki discuss what he’d done – or possibly done, she had to remember that there was the expectation of innocent until proven guilty – without making it utterly obvious that she was after that piece of information?

Thankfully, that was when Natasha spoke again. “Don’t make your move yet. You’re walking on thin ice right now. Let him know that he has a point but that you still can’t believe that Steve would do something like that.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Jane said slowly. “But I also know Steve and he doesn’t seem to be the sort of person who would do something, knowing that it could hurt someone else.” 

“Perhaps not overtly but he is the sort who would do something that indirectly harmed someone else if he weren’t fully aware of the situation,” Loki said. “After all, perhaps he has been given a different story than the actual version of reality? Maybe he is going on misinformation?”

“Alright, he’s backed off a bit,” Natasha murmured. “Strange, I wouldn’t have expected that…. unless… unless this explains all of his anger with Steve. Ask him… ask him if he’s ever seen something like this happen before with Steve.” 

“Have you ever seen Steve do something like that before?” Jane asked and immediately found that Natasha’s train of thought was absolutely correct. 

“Once,” Loki said softly. “When he told my brother that he should ask you out when I was planning on doing that very thing.” 

“Jackpot,” Natasha murmured. “Be careful but I think you can start reeling him in right now. Don’t give any indication that you might reciprocate those feelings, he’d see right through that, but acknowledge that you could see how that might hurt him and just wonder about how he might have responded to that.”

“I had no idea,” Jane said, and those words were easy because that was the entire truth. She’d never seen anything in her interactions with Loki that indicated he had those types of feelings for her. “I could see how that would have made you upset, for you to be considering telling me how you felt and then to have Steve encourage your brother to make that first move.”

“I was quite angry,” Loki agreed. “But then, I suppose that fate had quite a bit in store for Steve. It was quite a tragedy, hearing about all of those awful things that happened to him and his shop and his boyfriend.” 

The smirk that accompanied those words sent a chill down Jane’s spine and she almost shuddered. If it hadn’t been for Natasha, continuing to provide her with guidance for how to proceed, she would have had no idea what to say. Something about the coldness in Loki’s voice and the sheer pleasure he derived from Steve’s misfortune made her wonder if she’d gotten in way over her head. 

“You seem quite pleased about that,” she said quietly. “Almost as though you’re happy those things happened to him.”

“Of course I am,” Loki said. “He had it coming.” 

There was a beat of silence before Natasha said, “Remember how I told you not to give any indication that you might have feelings for Loki? I want you to do the exact opposite. I want you to wound his pride by making it clear that with the cruelty and callousness you just saw from him, you would never have any interest in being with him.” There was another moment before Natasha added, “And I want you to move closer to the door before you do that so that if you need to get out quickly, you can. Remember that Thor is just on the other side.”

Jane took the opportunity to move towards the door as Natasha fed her the instructions. She now had no doubt that Natasha already knew that this situation could escalate, given that she’d requested that Thor remain nearby during Jane’s conversation with Loki, and somehow that made her all the more scared. If Natasha felt that this situation was potentially dangerous, something had happened between her and Loki to think that might be a possibility. 

“I… I can’t believe you would say something like that,” she started. “Steve Rogers has been nothing but kind and nice and to think that he deserved those awful things happening to him just because he told Thor to ask me out… that’s wrong! You say that you would have asked me out if Thor hadn’t and I’m glad you didn’t because I never would have wanted to be someone who would wish those types of horrible things on another person.”

Before she even finished speaking, Loki was out of his seat and closing the distance between the two of them. His blue eyes were cold and sharp and his expression was terrifying in its lack of emotion as he approached her.

She fought the urge to run as Natasha cautioned, “Don’t run, not yet. Thor’s on comm too, he can hear all of this, and if he needs to get in there, I will tell him immediately if I think you’re in danger. Remember that Loki isn’t the sort to get his own hands dirty if he can avoid it.”

Somehow that didn’t make Jane feel any better, particularly when Loki all but pinned her to the wall and quietly said, “I would think before you speak, Jane. I wouldn’t want you to meet with the same types of misfortune that Steve did.” 

“Are… are you saying that you had something to do with that?” Jane choked out, not even needing a prompt from Natasha to lay what would have been the perfect bait if she hadn’t been utterly terrified of being in this situation. 

“Perhaps I am,” Loki murmured. “Perhaps I happened to tell Rumlow that Steve had been fooling around with his girlfriend. Perhaps I happened to encourage Rumlow to put in that complaint against Rogers’ boyfriend for the assault after I found out that both parties had already agreed in writing to not press charges. Perhaps I even encouraged a few of Rumlow’s friends to help their teammate out by defacing that lovely sign over the shop.”

“You bastard.” Not caring if Natasha had any other recommendations for how to play this situation, Jane shoved Loki away from her and bolted out the door and directly into Thor, who immediately wrapped his arms around her. 

She heard the door open behind her and whirled around to find Loki standing there, his expression one of anger as he took in his brother with his arms around her.

“What are you doing here?” he inquired.

“I heard yelling,” Thor said evenly. “I wanted to see what was wrong.”

Everything in Jane wanted her to tell Thor how disgusting and horrible his brother was, not that she needed to given that if Natasha was to be believed, he’d heard the entire conversation. However, before she could consider how to formulate her thoughts, Natasha cautioned, “Don’t say anything, Jane. I don’t want a target painted on your back. My plan is to put the blame from this on me. Make Loki think that you’re afraid of him.” 

There wasn’t much to fake there, given that with every successive word that Natasha said, Jane was becoming more afraid. Still, her innate response to that fear wasn’t to cower and show her belly, but if that was what Natasha wanted her to do, she must have had her reasons and Jane needed to know what those reasons were before she acted against them.

“It was nothing,” she demurred, lowering her eyes to the floor. “Just a disagreement.”

“That’s all,” Loki agreed. “We seem to have a difference of opinion when it comes to you, brother. That’s all.” He surveyed Thor and Jane once more before saying, “Now, if neither of you mind, I think I will finish my dinner in my room.”

Jane didn’t say a word as Loki disappeared back into the dinning room. Thor kept his arm around her as he gently pulled her away. All the while Natasha continued providing her last few pieces of guidance.

“I have a lot to think about. I want Steve to know what Loki said tonight. I don’t know if it would be proof enough for the police since technically he didn’t admit to anything. However…” and the pause was long enough to make Jane’s blood go cold because she’d never heard Natasha sound that uneasy and fearful. “However, as I said, there’s a lot to consider. Continue to play your parts. Let Loki know that there is still trouble in paradise.”

“Okay,” Jane murmured, Thor echoing the sentiment.

Then Natasha said seven last words that made Jane feel as though she’d been plunged into freezing water.

“Jane, don’t be alone with Loki. Ever.”

-~-

Natasha pushed herself back from her computer and rubbed at her temples. While the plan had gone exceedingly better than she ever expected, she also had the sense that she was now playing with fire she couldn’t control. She felt Clint’s hand come to rest on the back of her neck, then start to massage the tense muscles. He gave her a few moments to collect herself and her thoughts before he spoke.

“Nat, what’s wrong? What happened between you and Loki the last time he spoke to you?”

She exhaled slowly, not having wanted to tell Clint the contents of that conversation. Still, there was no way she could explain her hesitation after all of her work to create this plan when they now had the proof – or close enough to it – that they’d been striving to get for the past several weeks. 

“He knows about you, Clint. I don’t know how he knows but he knows.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked, his hand stilling on the back of her neck.

“He knows about your connection with the mob,” she said, burying her head in her hands and muffling her next words. “He didn’t threaten to use it, not overtly, but he made it clear that he has information and there was the implication that he would use that if he had to.”

There was a long moment of silence in response to that information, which gave Natasha just enough time to consider whether there would be any possibility of detracting Loki’s fury directly towards her and not risking him use his knowledge to hurt her through hurting Clint, even if she took fully responsibility.

Then, as she continued to agonize over how to proceed, all Clint said was, “Oh.”


	35. And Turning All Against The One Is An Art That's Hard To Teach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki is confronted and everything is resolved... kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for staying with me through this long hiatus. In the past month, since the last chapter was posted, I got married, moved out of my apartment and roadtripped with all of my belongings back home, and went on a honeymoon to Ireland and England. As a result, much writing did not get done until we returned a few days ago. That said, I have the final five chapters all outlined at this point and I am on a mini-writing retreat (AKA hanging out in a hotel room while my wife is on an actual writing retreat/residency) which I am hoping will lead to the remaining chapters being written and ready to post very, very soon.
> 
> Thank you as well to everyone who has read, subscribed/bookmarked, left kudos or comments, or stalked me on Tumblr. <3 That means a ton to me and I appreciate each and every one of you. When I started this fic last August, I never imagined that it would grow to be a 40 chapter monstrosity that will likely top out at well over 500 typed pages or that it would spinoff into a sequel.
> 
> As for this chapter, trigger warnings for very mild violence, I suppose.

Clint sat back and tried to slow down the thoughts racing through his head. What did Loki know about him and his connection with the mob? Did he know everything? Did he know that Clint was a narc and working undercover? How did Loki know this information? Was he potentially working with the Russians as well? Was that where he got his intel?

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, he realized that Natasha was still talking and he hadn’t heard a single word.

He tuned back in just in time to hear her say, “-knew that the incident in the library wasn’t some random person with a gun.”

That was all it took for his blood to run cold. Either Loki had his ear to the ground and that was the word on the street or Loki was further involved in the entire mob situation than he’d ever imagined.

He didn’t realize how long he’d been silent and more or less unaware of what Natasha was saying until she shook his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said automatically because that was what you did when someone said your name.

He couldn’t figure out what else to say at this point. Should he tell Natasha to go ahead and do what needed to be done, damn the consequences? Should he beg her to destroy the evidence she’d just gathered because he had absolutely no doubt that if she used that against Loki, he would recognize that the best way to hurt her was through Clint. Hell, as far as Clint could gather, he was already aware of that, given that he’d already threatened Natasha with his knowledge about Clint’s involvement with the mob. 

Despite the fact that he was certain he’d just responded, he must have spent more time than he thought dwelling on those thoughts because Natasha was shaking his shoulder and saying his name once again and judging by the worry in her voice, she’d probably been doing that for more than a couple minutes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, when he could finally find his voice. “I guess, uh, I guess I was kinda lost in my thoughts there.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Natasha said quietly. “I’m the one who put us in this position.”

“Hey, no, don’t you dare start that shit. If we’re going to start throwing blame around, there’s a whole lot of other directions that blame comes from. For starters, Loki didn’t have to start pulling this shit to begin with. I didn’t have to say yes when Coulson asked me if I was willing to do this work. If I hadn’t been a little juvenile delinquent, I probably never would have been in the position where Coulson would’ve asked. If we want to take things even further, it’s technically not Coulson’s fault that I’m in this mess. I got in over my head with the Russians all on my own.”

Natasha exhaled slowly and then, instead of responding to any of that directly, asked, “Am I ever going to know exactly what you did to piss them off?”

“One day. But that day is not today. We have too much else to worry about today.”

Natasha nodded her agreement. “Right. There are a lot of angles to consider, particularly with regard to minimizing any collateral damage. I think Jane and Thor should be all right if I make it clear to Loki that I placed the mic on her without her knowledge. He’d believe that would be the sort of thing I would do. I also don’t see there being any concerns with the twins or Sam, since I don’t think Loki has information on the twins. I have no doubt he would have informed me of that when we spoke. As for Sam, I don’t think Loki would have any reason or means to go after him.”

“Loki seems to the sort to either use his current knowledge to make trouble or manipulate the situation and I would think it would be difficult to do that with Sam.”

“Then there’s also the concern with James and Steve,” she said. “Clearly he’s already made trouble for them, directly and indirectly, but I don’t see how exposing this to them would place them in the crosshairs. Which just leaves the two of us. I’m fine with him trying to go after me. I’m just more concerned that he recognizes that going after me, given my father’s position, would be a very dangerous game to play and that he already plans to go after you to manipulate me into not playing my hand.”

Clint was quiet for a moment, “I hate to say it but, really, what more could Loki do?’ When Natasha looked ready to argue, he quickly added, “I know, I know, that’s a stupid thing to say but the Russians already want my head on a pike. I don’t see how he could make them want that anymore than they already do. He can’t give them your address, assuming they don’t already have it, because he wouldn’t want you in the crosshairs. I’m pretty sure, given how well they found me in the library, that they already have my typical locations mapped out. Plus, Loki’s smart. He’s not going to put himself in a position where the Russians might want to come after him, so he’s not going to try to work that angle too, too hard. He doesn’t want to get involved in this. I know his type. He likes to watch the chaos erupt while he’s safe and sound on the sidelines.”

“That’s true,” Natasha conceded. “I feel like there’s more of a threat still than what you’re making it sound like but you do raise quite a few good points. There’s a limit to what he could do.”

“So, I think we proceed as planned,” Clint said. “Let Steve hear the evidence. It probably wouldn’t be enough to go to the cops with, I don’t think, since he technically didn’t admit to anything. I mean, he framed everything as ‘perhaps’ and everything he says is incriminating as hell but it might not stand up in an actual legal proceeding. Though at least then Steve and Bucky would know.”

Natasha sighed. “Let’s just see what happens once they know who was behind all of that. That’s going to be an explosion in and of itself.”

Clint considered that and the position he was putting himself in. Despite his words, he couldn’t shake the strong sense of unease, bordering on panic, that had come over him the moment Natasha had told him what Loki had said. While he felt that his current argument for proceeding as planned made sense, he had the nagging suspicion that there was something he wasn’t quite grasping, something that would be important. 

Still, after everything that Bucky and Steve had gone through over the months, the two of them deserved to know. One: because they needed to know that Loki was a threat. Two: because he had no doubt that Bucky was still constantly looking over his shoulder since he didn’t know what had caused all of those incidents. And three: because they just fucking deserved to know. 

No one deserved to go through hell like that and come out on the other side without the answers for what had happened to them.

Clint just hoped he wasn’t making yet another terrible life decision.

-~-

“To what do we owe the honor of this meeting?” Steve asked a bit warily as he settled down in the chair in his office.

Natasha stood in the doorway looking rather stone-faced in a way that informed Steve that nothing that would be said could be considered ‘good news.’ As far as he knew, there were no other crises that had occurred. Bucky sat beside him, looking uneasy himself since he didn’t have the context for Natasha’s evening visit. Given that Bucky was there, Natasha wasn’t there because something was wrong with him and Steve could assume that there wasn’t something wrong with Bucky’s friends or family since someone would have presumably contacted him sooner if there were.

He didn’t think this had anything to do with Clint since he’d actually had a nice text conversation with Clint earlier, just to check on how he was doing and get assurance that Clint should be cleared to return to work after the holidays. Clint had even mentioned having a doctor’s appointment the next day to assess for a walking cast. As far as Steve knew, the twins were doing just fine since they’d been over at Shield all day – he was quite aware of that, given that he’d had to stop Pietro and Darcy from sneaking up to his apartment more than once. Last he checked, the twins were currently upstairs and waiting for Natasha to take them back to the townhouse.

Which meant that all he knew was that she’d shown up in the lobby about half an hour before closing. That wasn’t unusual given that she typically picked up the twins. What was unusual was that she’d waited until the shop had been properly closed down and Darcy had flipped the sign in the window and headed out before asking the twins to go upstairs to Steve’s apartment while she talked to him and Bucky. Without an immediate crisis involving one of the above individuals, Steve had no idea what else could have brought Natasha there with that kind of look on her face. Bucky didn’t seem to know either, which might have been comforting or might have just been more concerning, he couldn’t tell which at this moment.

“I have no doubt that both of you remember all of the bad luck that have plagued you and the shop over these past couple of months,” Natasha said.

“Yes,” Bucky said slowly. “Of course we do. Nat, what’s going on?”

“I launched my own investigation,” she informed them. “I wanted to find out who had done that, maybe even find out why. It took some digging but I think you have your answers now.” 

Without giving them the chance to ask any questions, which Steve was on the verge of doing because that statement had sparked all kinds – from wondering what had possessed Natasha to do something like that, to wondering how she got the information, or where she got the information from – Natasha placed a small recorder on the table and pressed play.

Steve immediately recognized the voices – Loki’s voice was far too distinctive to not recognize – but he’d never heard that type of tone from him before. He sounded cruel, malicious and threatening, and while Loki had often made Steve feel a bit uncomfortable, he’d never imagined him sounding quite like that. 

Or saying things like the ones he was saying. 

He’d also never heard Jane sound that way either, with her emotion changing practically by the moment, from sounding disgusted to enraged to frightened. 

He managed to stay quiet and listen as Loki discussed why he’d set Steve up, how he’d set him up, and how he’d continued to manipulate the situation so that more incidents occurred. Despite the fact that his ears took in the information and that it was clearly processed to some degree, he didn’t feel that he fully comprehended everything. 

To hear Loki describe his recent “misfortunes” in such a cold and cruel manner – though without fully admitting to anything, Steve caught that immediately – was shocking enough that he felt as though he was hearing the words without understanding them. Which made no sense given that he’d had no doubt that nothing that had happened had been an accident; he’d known that all along. 

Obviously Rumlow had a reason for attacking Steve and breaking his fingers. Though now, with this further information, Steve had to wonder more about that. Why hadn’t Rumlow told him the truth when Steve confronted him at the hospital? Why hadn’t he accused Steve of what Loki had told Rumlow he’d done? Why hadn’t Rumlow pointed Steve in Loki’s direction and placed at least a portion of the blame there? 

What did Loki have over Rumlow? It had to be more than the fact that he’d assaulted Steve, since that had been known by that point, so it wasn’t as though it could have gotten him into any further trouble.

All of that speculation made Steve wonder if that also had something to do with why Natasha looked so tired – no, exhausted, really – with the bags under her eyes and her shoulders slumped as though weighed down.

With all of those thoughts, either because of them or because his mind had finally finished fully processing Loki’s words, he suddenly found that thinking was impossible. All he could focus on, all he could experience, was his absolute rage. His heart jumped forward into his chest, beating so rapidly that he probably should have been concerned. The back of his neck burned as though his skin were on fire and everything in his chest clenched, making breathing almost impossible.

He probably should have grabbed his inhaler, given everything, but he wasn’t thinking of that at the moment.

The anger was like a coal burning in his chest and while he registered that his lips were moving and a stream of profanity that probably would have legitimately made his mother wash his mouth out with soap were coming out, he didn’t realize that he’d scrambled to his feet or that his hand had closed around the miniature sand tray on his desk – placed there, ironically, for the calming influence – until metal fingers gently closed around his wrist, stopping him from flinging the object at the wall, which he hadn’t realized until then was his intention.

The cold of the metal helped to bring him back to reality and, glancing over at Bucky, Steve could see that he was just as furious as Steve felt. Despite that, he seemed to be substantially more controlled than Steve was himself. Enough that while Steve was still struggling to breathe properly, Bucky already managed to form words.

“I have a lot of questions. For starters, how did you get this information? Secondly, what do you expect us to do now that we have it?”

“The first question is a long story. The second one… well, that’s your decision, to be honest,” she said evenly. “You can do nothing or - ”

That was all she managed to say before Steve snapped, “Fuck that” before he could reconsider his words or his tone. 

Bucky somewhat chidingly said, “Steve” but with those words, he released Steve’s wrist and gently smoothed his metal fingers through Steve’s hair until Steve somewhat reluctantly sat back down in his seat and waited for Natasha to continue.

She exhaled slowly and continued, “ – or you can take action. It’s your choice but I already figured you were going to do something. As you’ve probably already realized, as far as evidence goes, this might not amount to much.”

“But it might be worth talking with someone, maybe Detective Coulson,” Bucky suggested. “I mean… what other option is there, except to take matters into our own hands?”

“Which I wouldn’t recommend,” Natasha said quickly. “You’ve already seen what Loki is capable of.”

“But he can’t just get away with it,” Steve snarled.

“I’m not necessarily suggesting that either,” she said pointedly. “Trust me when I say that I didn’t go to all of this trouble to just ‘let him get away with it.’ I’m only saying that you shouldn’t make a rash decision. Think on it, sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Steve was still seething, particularly given what he still considered to be Natasha’s recommendation to stand back and refuse to act. Bucky, however, seemed to be managing his emotions much more effectively – Steve had caught him taking in deep breaths and seen his fingers move to the worry stone in his pocket – and perhaps because of that, he asked another question that Steve had wondered and yet not managed to properly form into words.

“Why did you go to all of this trouble, Nat? I mean, to get this kind of tech you’d either have to go to your dad or to Stark. Furthermore, how did you know?” 

“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “Not until he confessed, at least. I only suspected. As for why, that’s a pretty dumb question. I care about you, both of you, and I was sick of seeing this shit happen. I figured that if we at least knew for certain who’d done it, the worst-case scenario would be that there might be some way to prevent anything additional from happening in the future. The best case would be that we would get enough information to actually bring charges against the person for their actions. Neither one of you deserved to deal with any of this stuff, especially after everything you’ve already been through.” 

Bucky nodded, as though Natasha had only confirmed what he’d already thought, and softly said, “Thanks, Nat.”

He reached over and interlaced his metal fingers with Steve’s and Steve felt his muscles unclench the slightest bit in response to the contact, although the gesture left him focusing on his hands, where he could still feel the ache in each of the broken areas and the cramped muscles that still locked up and tired after a day of work. That memory did nothing more than bring him back to the realization that he now knew who had been responsible for that happening to him. He knew without a doubt that he wasn’t going to let this matter go without doing something.

Natasha straightened up, leaving the recorder on the table. Her gaze was troubled and the fact that he could read that emotion clearly unnerved him. Either there was more to this situation than Natasha was telling him – obviously there was more to it than that, given that she’d involved Jane and there was a decidedly threatening tone to Loki’s voice when he’d spoken to her – or she’d gotten comfortable enough with him to stop appearing calm and collected regardless of the situation. 

Somehow Steve didn’t think it was the latter. Not with every other vibe he was getting from Natasha at the moment. She was worried that there could be consequences if Steve acted on this information and Steve wasn’t certain whether she was only concerned for his sake or whether there were others who would be impacted as well.

Rather than speculate on that, he asked directly. “Natasha, if I were to decide to do something about this, who else might be in trouble?”

Her jaw tightened. “There are things that I can’t say because it wouldn’t be fair to others. However, besides you and Bucky, myself and Clint would also be impacted, as well as Jane and Thor. That said, Clint and I have already discussed things and we feel that the ball would be entirely in your court. If you want to act, we’re fine with that. I understand that you want to take that under consideration when making your decision but, personally, I’d rather hear your thoughts on the matter first, once you’ve had a chance to calm down and make a decision, and then we can go from there.”

“Nat, you have to believe that anything that might cause harm to you or the others is going to need to be considered if I’m making a decision,” Steve said sharply. “I’m not going to be responsible for that.”

“Unless you’re the one causing me the harm, you’re not responsible for anything, Steve,” she said quietly. “Like I said, think on it. Call me in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

She walked past them and towards the door, only for Bucky to pull away from Steve and go over to her. Steve stayed back as Bucky hugged her tightly and murmured, “Call me if you need anything, Nat” before releasing her and stepping back. 

Natasha offered him a small smile in response and promised, “I will, James.” She nodded to Steve. “Try not to think on anything too much until after you eat something, at least. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve listened to her footsteps move down the hall and up the stairs to the apartment, the twins following her back downstairs a few moments later. His attention remained primarily on the recorder and he rewound and hit play, listening to Loki’s words once more and then again for good measure. This time, he managed to curb his emotional reaction enough to avoid flinging objects or having his heart beat right out of his chest.

Bucky, for his part, remained standing by the door, the piece of marble now in his hand as he worked it between his metal fingers, his flesh-and-blood ones lightly massaging his temples. Steve felt the slightest twinge of guilt at that and hurriedly got to his feet, slipping the recorder into his pocket before heading over to Bucky.

“Got a headache coming on?” he asked softly.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said and even managed a slight, although barely genuine smile. “At least not more of a headache than anyone would have after hearing all of that shit. I mean, Jesus-fucking-Christ. On the one hand, it’s nice to know who’s responsible for all of this. On the other, it’s just another situation to handle and judging by what Natasha said, I’m not sure we’re going to get any closure on it.”

“Let’s see if we can stay away from predicting the future right now,” Steve suggested, though then darkly added, “And instead go see if we can find Loki and beat the shit out of him.”

“Okay, no, how about we don’t do that right now,” Bucky said quickly. “Instead, how about getting dinner and then we’ll sit down and think about the information we have and what we want to do with it.”

Steve grudgingly agreed. Bucky looked relieved and offered to make some spaghetti and headed for the stairs. With the twins and Natasha gone, Steve went to check the doors, making sure everything was locked. Particularly in light of the new information he’d received, he felt as though there needed to be an additional measure of caution. While at the front door, he couldn’t help but consider what would happen if he were to leave. Bucky was upstairs and couldn’t stop him and it wouldn’t be hard to slip out and track down Loki on his own.

Except, of course, for the fact that he had no idea where Loki might be and he’d be wandering around DC in the middle of December in a t-shirt and jeans and would probably freeze to death before he even had the chance to find Loki. Not to mention that even in his anger, Steve had no doubt that assaulting Loki in front of a large group of people – say, in the bar – probably wouldn’t do anything good for anyone. 

But it would damn well feel good, as far as Steve were concerned. He’d thought Rumlow was cowardly for attacking him the way he had – and he was, this new information didn’t ignore the fact that Rumlow had attacked him from behind and that his motivation for attack had been based entirely on the words of another – but there was something even more cowardly about Loki’s actions. To manipulate another person to attack Steve and continue making Steve’s life – and Bucky’s life – a living hell was another level of cowardice entirely.

It didn’t help to see that apparently the two of them hadn’t been Loki’s only victim. He’d done, or at least threatened to do, something to Natasha and Clint, judging by Natasha’s response to everything. The mere thought of Loki manipulating Natasha should have been frightening, given that this was Natasha he was talking about, but if anything that just made him angrier. 

Despite the urge to act, Steve forced himself away from the door and towards the stairs. If he’d known right now where he could find Loki, he wasn’t certain he could have made that choice. But he didn’t need to get pneumonia again, not right before the holidays, and logically speaking, he probably didn’t need assault charges brought against him. Even with their evidence on the recorder, he doubted that would protect him from eyewitness accounts from a roomful of people watching him attack Loki.

Besides, on some level he had to admit that Natasha was right. He needed to calmly, rationally consider his options first.

And then beat the hell out of Loki. 

-~-

The phone call came at 9:00 AM, a little later than Natasha would have expected, although she figured that a part of that delay was Steve wanting to let her sleep in. From beside her, Clint groaned and grumbled and tried to pull the covers over his head. While both of them had been woken up by Sam’s alarm two hours before, Clint had almost immediately fallen back asleep after exchanging goodbyes and not very awake kisses with Sam before he left. Natasha, for her part, had remained awake, too caught up in her own thoughts to sleep at this point. 

She murmured an apology to Clint while grabbing her phone and hurried from the room, only to duck into Bucky’s currently unoccupied room, in the hopes of not having the twins overhear this conversation. 

“Good morning, Rogers,” she said, once the door was closed behind her. “I’m guessing you’ve come to a decision.”

Judging by the echo that followed her voice, she gathered that she was on speakerphone. 

“We have,” Steve said. “We want to have a conversation with Loki. Not a public spectacle, something private. I want him to know that we know the role he played in everything. Maybe it won’t amount to much, but I’d like to think that he couldn’t continue pulling this shit with our evidence hanging over his head. At least he’d know that if anything else did happen, we’d be contacting the police and using the tape as proof to investigate Loki further, if nothing else.”

Natasha exhaled slowly at that, though the decision was unsurprising to her. “There might be something else you haven’t considered. I understand where you’re coming from but last night I was doing some research into the rights and privileges of diplomats. Specifically whether or not the adult children of diplomats, like Thor and Loki’s father, would have diplomatic immunity and from what I’ve read, I’m pretty sure they would. It’s a little more complicated since Loki is adopted but from everything I’ve seen, he’d have the same rights as his brother and his brother would have diplomatic immunity. Loki probably feels that he can get away with this because he can’t be prosecuted.”

There was a long moment of silence from the other end of the phone, presumably while Steve and Bucky processed that new piece of information. 

“Well, fuck,” Bucky finally said. “I hadn’t even considered that.”

“I hadn’t either,” Natasha admitted. “It was bothering me though, enough that I couldn’t sleep, which was why I looked it up late last night. I would have called you right away but I wanted you to be able to sleep.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Steve said firmly. “So what if he can’t be prosecuted? We can still let him know that we know. Even if charges can’t officially be brought against him, we could still contact the media, create a scandal, if it came to that, I mean.”

“That sounds a lot like playing with fire to me,” Natasha said with a sigh. “But I see where you’re coming from. I assumed that this would be your decision. The difficulty will be setting it up in a private location, given that I don’t think Loki’s going to willingly come to Shield and given the guests that we have, I’m not bringing him to the townhouse. However, I think I might have a way of fixing that. I’ll just need to make a few calls of my own. Then I’ll call you back once I have a definitive answer and plan.”

Without waiting to see what Steve or Bucky would say, she hung up and considered her options. As soon as Steve had said he wanted to have a private meeting, she’d only been able to think of the coffee shop, which meant involving Jane again. The problem with that, of course, would be figuring out how to keep Jane out of the crossfire. She’d already played enough of a role in this, as far as Natasha was concerned, and Natasha didn’t want to see Loki turn his attention onto her.

As she considered that, it occurred to her that she liked Steve’s plan more and more. She was sick and tired of feeling as though she had to walk on eggshells around Loki. The fact that he had this much power over her and the others sickened her. 

She scrolled down to Jane’s number in her phone and then stopped herself before dialing. While this was a conversation that could be conducted on the phone, that also wasn’t necessary. Besides, it was early and Clint was grumpy and she was partially responsible for that given that she’d left the ringer of her phone on rather than muting it. The least she could do was get him a cup of coffee to make up for that.

-~-

Everyone always said that winter break was a time to relax and recover from the semester but that didn’t hold true when you were a PhD student with a dissertation to write or when you were struggling to earn that last little bit of money before Christmas to prevent emptying out your bank account after all of the purchased presents.

Jane had been working at least one or two shifts a day since the semester ended, frequently the morning and afternoon ones, and today was particularly unfortunate since she’d agreed to do both the morning and the closing shifts. On the plus side, she only had an afternoon shift the following day and she’d already taken off Christmas Eve and both New Year’s Eve and Day, since Christmas Day was the only official holiday the coffee shop provided. She blamed the influx of people coming to the churches in Georgetown on Christmas Eve for keeping it open that night and the fact that apparently people wanted their caffeine fix up to a point on New Year’s Eve – the shop did close at five that day – and the need for caffeine and hangover cures on New Year’s Day.

Between her work schedule mayhem, continuing to have revisions to complete on her dissertation, and the entire situation with Loki, she was not in the best mood ever when she got to work that morning. It didn’t help at all that whoever had closed the previous evening hadn’t exactly done a brilliant job. While this time, whoever it was had actually managed to load the dishwasher, they had forgotten to turn it on and subsequently left her with very few clean in-house cups and plates. Furthermore, they had failed to clean up the abandoned magazines from the tables and, as far as she could tell, no surfaces had been scrubbed down.

Thankfully, Thor had come over with her, as Jane had officially stopped caring whether or not he was allowed to be there. With his extra set of hands, she found herself able to manage these situations and finish in enough time that when her first customer came in, the shop looked pristine, there were clean dishes, and all three fresh coffees had been brewed and were ready to go.

By that point, Thor, for his part, had taken a seat at one of the tables and was enjoying a cup of coffee – on the house, as payment for his help – and a breakfast sandwich that he’d insisted on paying for. Seeing him sitting there brought a smile to her face each time her eyes moved in that direction. Despite how strained things had been over the past several days – the tension with Loki leading to them staying more at her cramped studio apartment than visiting his place – things had been good with them and Jane was grateful to have him there with her. 

Everything seemed to be going quite smoothly, with the usual morning rush being a bit toned down without students running to early morning classes coming in, until Natasha walked into the shop. She casually ordered a latte, a cup of coffee, and two breakfast sandwiches to go, before mentioning that once Jane had a moment, she’d like to speak with her.

Jane tried not to dwell on that as she completed Natasha’s order and managed the orders that came afterwards but as the customers grew further and further apart and the lull between the morning and lunch rush started, she felt herself started to feel uneasy. Given what had happened the last time she’d spoken with Natasha, she had to assume that this visit meant nothing good.

As the final customer left the shop, coffees in hand, Jane headed over to the table Natasha was sitting at and motioned for Thor to come over as well.

Thor, who looked as concerned as Jane felt, inquired, “To what do we owe this visit?”

“I have an idea and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Natasha said bluntly. “I played Steve and James the recording of your brother and this morning they told me that they would like to confront Loki directly.”

Jane frowned and said, “Thanks for the update but how exactly does that involve us?”

“I’m getting to that,” Natasha said. “Obviously, they would prefer to have this conversation occur in a private environment. However, Loki isn’t likely to willingly come to any of the places that this conversation could occur in, such as Shield. As a result, my thought was that we could have this conversation occur her.”

“And why would Loki come here to meet Steve?” Thor asked.

“He wouldn’t,” Jane said, already two steps ahead and seeing where this was going. “He’d come to see me. You want me to ask him to meet me here.”

“I do,” Natasha confirmed. “But I don’t want to get you in trouble for it. I’m more than willing to tell him that I stole your phone, your keys, whatever I needed to arrange for the meeting. You’re already in the crosshairs, so to speak, especially once he finds out that I put a recording device on you to see if he would confess. I don’t want him to have any other reason to focus his attention onto you.”

Jane considered that for a moment. That was about all it took for her to move from unnerved to angry to furious. True, she’d been afraid when she’d seen that side of Loki when she coaxed that semi-confession out of him. If anything, she’d been the most unnerved by the fact that she hadn’t realized he was that vindictive and manipulative until then. But since then, she’d found herself more angry than anything else and, in some ways, she was the angriest with Natasha’s continuing to treat her like she was a damsel in distress in need of saving and protection.

Before Jane even knew what she was saying or planning to say, she said, “No. No, screw that. If Steve wants a meeting with Loki, he can have the meeting with Loki. I’ll text him, I’ll ask him to meet me after the shop closes since I’m the last one here tonight, and I will be here when he arrives. I’m tired of this. I’m working two shifts a day and it feels like I just finished final papers and exams and grading five million things so that I could submit the grades for my students this semester and I’m still having to go to the lab on pretty much a daily basis because I have my dissertation to work on and I’m just… I’m just done. He doesn’t scare me. I’m not going to let him scare me. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it but stop treating me with kid gloves or like I can’t handle this because I can. If Loki wants to turn his attention onto me, so be it. I’d like to see him try.”

By the time she finished speaking, both Natasha and Thor seemed a bit taken aback, although Thor looked openly proud of her and there was a level of grudging respect from Natasha as well.

Thor said. “If you are planning to confront my brother with the evidence that Jane provided to you, I believe that both of us should be there for that conversation.”

Natasha frowned the slightest bit at that. “If that is what you would prefer, then that’s what we’ll do. What time are you thinking of asking Loki to come by?”

“We close at 9:00 PM tonight,” Jane said. “I’ll ask him to come at about 9:30, just in case anyone lingers a bit longer or we have any last minute customers.”

“And if he asks what the reason for this visit is, what will you say then?” Natasha followed up with.

Jane had an easy reply for that. “That I’ve been thinking about our last conversation and I was wondering if we might be able to talk about it without Thor being present.”

“Which I suppose means that Thor will be staying in the back until the rest of us arrive?” Natasha asked.

Jane nodded. “He can stay in the kitchen. I can stall until the rest of you get here. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Natasha still looked unconvinced and a bit wary, which made Jane’s blood boil, but she merely said, “Alright. I’ll bring Steve and Bucky over at 9:40. That way if Loki’s the slightest bit late, he won’t see us approaching. If he’s not there by 9:35, send me a text and we’ll hold back until he does arrive.”

“And if that happens, I can text you when he arrives,” Thor offered.

Before Natasha could respond to that, the door opened and a group of high school students – Jane could not comprehend why they would be awake this early when their break just started – came inside.

Natasha quickly said, “We’ll see you then” and Jane nodded before moving behind the counter.

At least she’d have the rest of the morning shift and a trip to the lab before the evening shift to keep her mind occupied and not focused on what would be coming. Of course, there was also a benefit to the evening shift, which she had no doubt would include some down time, in order to prepare herself for stalling tactics. 

As soon as there was a lull, she would send the text message to Loki. Any delays in responses from her could be attributed to work.

The more she thought about everything, she knew she would be right where she needed to be that evening. Loki had done terrible things to Steve and Bucky and needed to be held accountable and the fact that everyone else seemed to be afraid of him just angered her. He was a person, nothing more, nothing less. 

She wasn’t going to be afraid of him.

And, hell, if Steve didn’t do it, she might just slap him herself.

-~-

Bucky was definitely having mixed feelings as the 9:40 PM arrival time drew nearer and nearer. Ever since Natasha had called back and informed them of the plan, there had been a knot of tension in the center of his chest that refused to go away. He would, with some reluctance, admit that it was anxiety driven.

Helping out at Shield all day had been a decent distraction, although with each day going forward and no word yet on whether he’d lose his license – which hadn’t stopped him from secretly piercing Wanda’s ears not too long ago and she had been sworn to secrecy, naturally – only added to his frustration and, if he were to admit it, a certain measure of anxiety. Not more than he could handle or what he would consider to be problematic but enough that he noticed it.

The whole thing with Loki though, now that had made his anxiety spike considerably. While it did provide a certain measure of relief to know who’d been responsible for everything that had happened and made him feel less like he needed to look over his shoulder, knowing for a fact that there was someone out there like Loki, who would be willing to create these types of situations to harm others, reinforced all of his cognitive distortions about how the world was not a safe place. 

At the least though, he now recognized these cognitive distortions and how to balance the information that supported it and the information that contradicted it, not to mention recognized that seeing the world as all harmful or all good wasn’t helpful either because there were always both elements involved and grey areas. Nothing was all-or-nothing despite how often his brain tried to convince him it was. 

When it came to this evening though, he also wasn’t entirely certain where the anxiety came from, given that he doubted Loki would be likely to pose an immediate threat. For one, it was clear that Loki preferred to convince others to do his dirty work and therefore keep his hands clean. For another, based on what Natasha had said about who would be attending this meeting, Loki was going to be quite outnumbered and he was intelligent enough to recognize that it would be a losing fight for him rather quickly.

If he were to be honest, he knew exactly why he was nervous. With Loki’s willingness to create these situations and scenarios, there was little doubt in Bucky’s mind that following this confrontation, Loki would be looking for ways to get them back. Although Steve did have a point by saying that with the evidence, they had a way to protect themselves against retaliation. Even if Loki couldn’t be prosecuted due to diplomatic immunity, they had the taped pseudo-confession and Bucky had no doubt that Steve would do whatever he had to – including, probably, talking with Tony Stark – if he needed to create a media scandal over this.

Still, there was a part of him that wished he had some sort of a weapon as they approached the coffee shop.

Inside, he could see Loki and Jane sitting at a table. Loki seemed a bit confused and uncertain, while Jane’s expression, from what Bucky could see of it, appeared genuinely curious and almost concerned. Both of their looks, of course, changed when Natasha opened the door with Bucky and Steve following close behind. Loki was on his feet almost immediately and Jane didn’t even bother to feign surprise or anything like that. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Loki questioned, looking between the three of them and Jane.

Jane stood up as well, taking a step closer to the kitchen. “Steve had some questions to ask you after he heard what you’d said to me a few nights back.”

“How-?” Loki started, although his eyes hardened when he looked at Natasha. “You?”

“Me,” Natasha confirmed. “I asked Jane to wear a recording device. While you didn’t admit as much as I was hoping you would, you still gave us enough.”

“And you… you agreed to do that?” Loki asked Jane, giving her a look that would have seemed almost betrayed if Bucky didn’t know enough to doubt the veracity of that emotion.

“I did,” Jane said quietly. “And I don’t regret it. I stand by the things I said to you that night. You are horrible and you disgust me.”

Bucky felt the tension in the room shift at that. He’d learned how to read situations carefully enough when deployed to know when to act first or retreat before things, often literally, exploded and this situation seemed to be nearing its boiling point. 

All of which was evident when Loki took a threatening step towards Jane. Before Bucky could react to that, Steve leapt forward and pretty much flung himself at Loki like a feral ball of rage. By the time Bucky forced himself into movement, Loki was on his back with a bloody nose, Steve on top of him, and as Bucky reached them, Loki roughly half-shoved, half-kicked Steve away. Steve landed in a crouch like a cat and Loki rolled to his knees as well and before either one of them could act further, Bucky placed himself between them. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he said coldly, keeping his eyes fixed on Loki and hoping that Steve wouldn’t make a desperate bid for freedom – and Loki - and dive around him. 

Loki seemed to register that attacking Bucky would be a poor decision. His eyes moved towards Bucky’s mostly covered metal arm and Bucky could see him straighten up a bit and shift the slightest bit away. This was a good thing, as far as Bucky was concerned, because after everything Loki had done and the fact that he’d seemed to be contemplating doing something to Jane – even if that had just been to threaten her – Bucky was reasonably certain that with the slightest provocation, he would be more than happy to add a bit more blood to Loki’s face himself, regardless of the consequences of assault charges. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Loki snarled, his composure slipping considerably. “Wait until my father hears about this.”

“Our father will not hear about this,” came another voice, startling Bucky the slightest bit despite the fact that he’d known Thor was going to be there as well. 

As Thor stepped out of the kitchen, Bucky could see that he, like the rest of them, was furious with Loki. More than furious though; if Bucky were to characterize the look, he would say that it was closer to disappointment.

“Brother,” Loki started, and Thor quickly cut him off.

“Right now, I’m ashamed to call you my brother. Please, though, tell father everything. Tell him what you did, the manipulations you pulled, to bring this situation to life. I am sure he would be thrilled to hear all of that. I’m sure he would be proud of you.”

Bucky took that moment to turn his attention back to Steve, now that he was reasonably certain there wasn’t much of a chance of having to defend himself from Loki taking advantage once his back was turned. Steve still seemed to be bristling with barely restrained rage and he breathed raggedly, probably because Loki’s kick had caught him in the stomach judging by the way he was holding his ribs. Overall he appeared to be intact and at this point that was the best Bucky could hope for. Even if the thought of Loki causing any further harm to Steve made him want to beat the hell out of him himself.

“What you think about all of this, what you’ve been told by them, they’re wrong,” Loki said quickly. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think,” Thor said and with those words, his gaze was almost pitying. “I had hoped from the beginning that you would not be involved in any of this. I was hoping that we could clear your name, so to speak. But the thing that saddened me the most was realizing that despite everything, I was not surprised when I heard that recording. For as much as I’d wanted to believe it wasn’t true, I’d always known that it would be.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at that and he turned his attention back to Bucky, his eyes moving to the side to where Steve was standing, and Bucky put an arm around Steve’s shoulders protectively.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Loki said, his lips curving into the slightest smirk. “You have the tape but so what? If you bring it to the police, they won’t be able to bring charges against me. Not for that. Not when there isn’t even a confession and I have diplomatic immunity thanks to my father.”

“You’re right,” Steve agreed, his breathing still ragged. “I wouldn’t see the point in doing that. Your father, though, he might want to hear about all of this. He might want to listen to the recording. The media might also be curious as well, especially if it’s a slow news week. A controversy involving the son of a diplomat, now there’s something that could make headlines. I can guarantee that if anything else happens to anyone in this room, anything that seems suspicious, that might tie back to you, that is exactly what will happen.”

“So you’re threatening me,” Loki said quietly, in a tone that was cutting and chilling all at the same time.

“I am,” Steve agreed. “This isn’t a discussion or a debate. I’m letting you know right now that I’m fully aware of the role you’ve played in everything that’s happened to me over the past several months and, furthermore, I’m letting you know what will happen if these ‘misfortunes’ continue.”

Loki’s eyes flashed but he merely reached up to wipe the blood from his mouth. “Then I believe our conversation here has finished.” 

His eyes moved from Bucky and Steve to Natasha, who was still standing near the door, and then shifted to where Thor and Jane were standing. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing the two of you soon enough.” 

He walked towards the door without another look at anyone, save for Natasha as he approached her, and Bucky saw him murmur something inaudible to her. Bucky caught Natasha’s gaze harden and her back stiffen and he found himself unable to stay put upon seeing that because no one threatened his friends, but by the time he’d crossed the room, Loki was already out the door. 

Before Bucky could consider following him, Natasha reached for his arm. “James, don’t. Please. It’s not worth it.” Then, without giving him a chance to respond, she glanced over his shoulder at Steve, Thor, and Jane and asked, “Is everyone okay after that?”

“I’m fine,” Jane said quickly, her chin up and her gaze defiant as though daring anyone in the room to argue otherwise.

Bucky was still focused on Natasha and the fact that he could see the slightest tremble in her hands but given that she seemed to be refusing to admit that anything was wrong, he filed that information away for later use and returned his attention to Steve. Steve still had a hand pressed to his ribs but his breathing had evened out, enough that Bucky no longer wondered if an inhaler might be necessary or helpful.

“Think anything’s broken?” he asked as lightly as he could.

“Nah,” Steve said and his look was one of almost amusement at the question. “This doesn’t feel like busted ribs, just like I’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Loki’s not that strong.”

When Bucky looked back at Jane, Thor’s arms were around her waist and if anything she appeared to be comforting him. From what he could tell, the two of them had likely been engaging in a quiet discussion that Bucky hadn’t heard, given that his focus was on Steve, and all he caught was something to the effect of, “I can’t believe that my brother would do something like that.”

“He is adopted, right?” Natasha lightly questioned.

That actually brought the slightest smile out of Thor, at least at first, and then his expression darkened and he murmured, “Yes, and I think that might have been a big part of the problem.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “But never mind that. Let’s get you home, Jane. You’ve been awake and working all day.”

“I can’t go home yet,” Jane said with a sigh. “I’ve got to finish cleaning up, especially now that there’s blood on the floor and I need to decontaminate everything.”

“I can help with that,” Steve offered. “It’s kinda my fault.”

“As much as I’d like to take you up on that, I probably shouldn’t have all of you in here after hours. While I doubt that anyone would see that going on, I don’t need word to somehow get out to my boss.” When Steve seemed to be about to argue, she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll have Thor helping me out.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look at that but given that there wasn’t really any argument that could be made otherwise, they both remained silent. 

Natasha, meanwhile, came over to Jane and Thor and sincerely said, “Thank you both for everything. I know this wasn’t easy for either one of you.”

“I was happy to do it,” Jane said.

Thor nodded his agreement. “I only wish things hadn’t turned out this way.”

“Don’t we all,” Natasha said quietly. “Have a good night, you two, and stay out of trouble. Please let me know if you ever need anything. Trust me when I say that I owe you now.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve just been granted a favor from the mob?” Jane asked and for the slightest second, Bucky caught Natasha’s expression freeze, only to then return the same smile that Jane had given her. 

“Because you know I practically run this town,” she joked and then turned to Steve and Bucky, as though unwilling to continue that conversation any further. “C’mon you two. Let’s get you back to Shield.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a final set of goodbyes with Thor and Jane before stepping outside, into the cold night, with Jane locking the door behind them and giving them a final wave. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders and with each step that they took away from the coffee shop and closer to Shield, he didn’t feel the relief he’d expected. It didn’t feel as though it were over.


	36. Frozen In The Snow Lie Roses Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint gets a letter from his brother, Tony takes one step forward and two steps back, and the gang celebrates the holidays together before going their separate ways for the rest of the holiday season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, to everyone who has read, commented, bookmarked/subscribed, left kudos, and/or told others about this fic. It means a ton to me.
> 
> Expect the next chapter within the next few days, as it is almost entirely written and will just need to be edited. We are almost at the end of this one, folks, and then I'll be going straight into the still currently untitled sequel.
> 
> Thanks, as well, to thealidoyle who beta-ed this chapter for me and asked me quite a few important, clarifying questions that made this a better chapter. Another thank you to my wife, who let me bounce ideas off of her and provide her beta reading skills too (and just graduated with her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction because she's awesome!)

The house was a disaster.

Somehow, when Natasha had gone to bed the previous evening, it hadn’t been quite _this_ bad. At least she didn’t think it had been, although last night, much like the night before when she had returned home from the quite unpleasant meeting with Loki, she’d immediately sat down on the couch with a glass of vodka. As a result, she might not have been in the best state of mind to legitimately judge the condition of the townhouse when she went to bed. However, she could argue that since everyone went to sleep around the same time she had – though she was becoming more and more doubtful that was the case - there wasn’t a valid reason for how it got to the point where it looked like a tornado went off in the middle of the night.

One set of evidence to suggest that she was wrong about the others going to bed was the fact that he twins apparently had decided not to sleep in their room, which was simultaneously surprising, adorable, and somewhat frustrating. They were curled up like a pair of cats on the couch in the midst of the disaster of the living room. Despite her frustration, it was also nice to see. Natasha was reasonably certain that for their first several weeks of living there, they’d barricaded themselves into their room each night. Seeing that they were comfortable enough to sleep out in the open told her that both had become significantly more comfortable and recognized that the entire house was a safe place for them to be.

She just wished that new level of comfort hadn’t started on the evening before she had to prepare the entire house for a holiday party.

Instead of dwelling on all of that or her continued concern over Loki, she tried to focus more on the upcoming festivities. To be respectful of the twins, who were now in their second night of celebrating Hanukkah, she had made certain to refer to the party as a holiday one, rather than a Christmas one. From what she had gathered when the twins provided her and Clint with a list of what they would need to observe Hanukkah, they’d had more than enough of their religion and heritage being erased in their lives. She wasn’t about to be a part of that erasure. 

Natasha surveyed the living room and the half finished cans of soda, hopefully empty boxes of pizza, and various bowls of chips that decorated it, before determining that 1) all of this was probably the fault of Clint and Sam despite the fact that the twins were in the middle of the chaos and 2) that she was not about to clean up after her boys until she had consumed at least a pot of coffee. Hopefully by the time she finished, the twins would be awake – and if she were seriously lucky, Clint and Sam would be up as well – and she could start delegating tasks in the hopes of making her house less of a mess before people started arriving that evening. 

Given that Clint had, as of yesterday, received a walking cast and permission to carefully start putting weight back on his ankle, he was fully capable of cleaning up this disaster. She only hoped that he wouldn’t manage to reinjure or otherwise break himself in the process.

By the time the coffee percolated, she could hear signs of life from the direction of the living room. She poured the coffee already brewed into a mug, ignoring the sizzling as the liquid hit the warming plate, and then stepped over to check on the twins. Wanda was curled up against Pietro’s chest, his arms locked tightly around her to keep her from falling off of the side of the couch. Koschei was there as well, nestled against Wanda’s stomach, although when he saw Natasha, he yawned and scrambled up and went straight for the kitchen. 

Natasha was about to follow in the interest of feeding him when Wanda stretched like a cat against her brother – who grumbled in response - and sleepily murmured, “Good morning.” 

“Good morning to the two of you as well,” Natasha said. “What kept you up all night?” 

“We were watching a movie with Sam and Clint,” Wanda explained. “They went up before us and we wanted to finish it and I guess we just kinda fell asleep down here.”

“What time’s it?” Pietro mumbled.

“Late enough that you two should probably be awake,” Natasha said softly. “Or at least head upstairs if you’re still tired since there will be a lot of cleaning going on here and you probably don’t want to be in the middle of it.”

“Oh, right, for the party,” Wanda said, her eyes lighting up. “I forgot that was tonight.”

“Bucky and Steve should be coming over around 7:00. I asked Tony to come closer to 8:00, since I know the two of you will be continuing to observe Hanukkah. I don’t trust Tony not to create some difficulties with that. Once he arrives, we’ll have drinks and dinner and if everything goes smoothly, it should be a nice holiday party.”

“You excited, Pietro?” Wanda asked, nudging her brother gently.

He made a displeased sound in response to that and swatted in her general direction without opening his eyes.

“Be nice,” she chided him. “It’s the holidays.”

Natasha couldn’t curb her smile in response to seeing the twins bicker with one another. “You want coffee? Think that might help?”

“Coffee,” Pietro repeated. “Yeah, coffee sounds good.”

She took it upon herself to be charitable and return to the kitchen where she could make him a cup with the amount of milk and sugar he desired. She poured another mug for his sister as well, abandoning her cup on the kitchen counter for the time being. She paused long enough to get Koschei his own breakfast, given that he was purring and rubbing against her ankles in a way that was liable to lead to her tripping over him. By the time she returned to the couch, both of the twins were sitting up, Wanda trying to smooth Pietro’s tangled hair into something more manageable. Each accepted their cups, Wanda a bit more gratefully than her brother, and within about five seconds Pietro had drained the majority of the liquid from his. 

In the interest of encouraging further movement, Natasha informed him, “There’s more in the pot if you want some.”

Pietro took the cue and pushed himself to his feet before stumbling in the direction of the kitchen. Wanda looked amused as she sipped at her own cup. Natasha was pleased to realize that she looked easily the happiest and most comfortable that she’d seemed since the twins moved into the townhouse. When Pietro returned, he placed the cup on the coffee table and reached for his sister’s hair, twisting it into a bun and securing it with a hair tie previously around his wrist, clearly there for that exact purpose given that Pietro’s hair wasn’t anywhere near long enough to need one of those. Wanda gave him a smile in response to that and he responded with one of his own before reaching for his cup once more. 

His eyes shifted in the direction of the Christmas tree in the corner. “Y’know, this is the first year I haven’t hated the sight of that fucking thing.”

“Pietro,” Wanda said sharply.

He shrugged in response. 

“Really?” Natasha said calmly. “I hadn’t realized you harbored that much resentment. I might have considered another form of decorating for the holidays in that case.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” he said a bit grudgingly. “I mean, that’s why I was all for going out with you guys to get it and helping with the decoration. You didn’t force it on us, you gave us the choice of whether we wanted to go and whether we wanted to help and that made it different.”

Wanda softly said, “It felt more like we were being invited into the family, not like it was being forced on us regardless of how we felt or not.”

Natasha nodded. “Well, those choices continue. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, you’re welcome to spend time with Clint and me as we celebrate. If you would prefer not to, we understand. It’s all up to you. I want you to enjoy the holiday season, not feel trapped by it.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said quietly. 

It might have been the most genuine thanks Natasha had heard from him since they first met. While he’d moved from grudging ‘thank yous’ to more genuine ones, she could tell that something about this situation strongly affected him. His guard was down and there was less of the prickly abrasiveness she was used to seeing consistently from him. 

Almost like he’d finally dropped the rest of his armor. 

He seemed to realize that; his shoulders immediately tensed and he lowered his gaze and made a show of drinking the rest of his coffee. Still, given that nothing sarcastic or snarky left his lips, he didn’t seem to be defending himself too much. 

Before she could consider what to say, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Sam came into view, clad in only a pair of boxers and a grey tank top, and she was spared further contemplation of whether she should say something and risk ruining the moment or not saying anything and also risk ruining the moment depending on how Pietro responded to either option. Sam whistled as he surveyed the disaster of the living room. Natasha fixed him with a pointed look.

“It didn’t look this bad when we went to bed, I swear,” Sam quickly said.

“Hey, don’t pin this on us, old man,” Pietro countered. “We did nothing but sleep down here.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is,” Natasha said smoothly. “I only care about who is going to clean it up and it just so happens that you and Clint have been nominated, Sam. Where is he, by the way?”

“Still in bed,” Sam said. “Last I checked, he was trying to stop Lucky from licking his face.” 

“Good, at least that will wake him up. I’ll check on him in a few minutes. Until then, there should still be some coffee left, if Pietro hasn’t drank it all. You’re at least welcome to that before you start cleaning.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said with a grin and mock salute. “Your wish is my command.” 

“You’re lucky I love the two of you.” Natasha sighed, then beckoned for Sam to come over and pulled him into a kiss. Pietro gagged in response to that and she pointedly ignored him and refrained from reminding him of the constant PDA she witnessed between him and Darcy.

“We know that,” Sam assured her, pulling away and heading towards the kitchen.

She sat back and watched him, enjoying the view and reminiscing about how he’d looked in significantly less clothing the previous evening, before glancing over at the twins who were back to being curled up together. Wanda’s head rested against her brother’s shoulder and both were smiling as they spoke softly to one another. Despite the fact that she easily could have eavesdropped since they were speaking English – another sign that the two had come to trust them and didn’t feel the need for secrecy – she let them be and rose to her feet.

“Pour two cups if you can,” she said to Sam. “I’ll bring one up to Clint. Maybe the jolt of caffeine will get him going.”

-~-

No matter how long Clint looked at the letter in his hand, it didn’t change. The words remained the same, aside from going in and out of focus the slightest bit when he stared at them too long. He didn’t miss the fact that while the return address was their childhood home in Iowa, the permit imprint stamp from the post office indicated that it had been mailed in New York, which was far too close for comfort.

From the moment he’d seen the return address on the envelope, he’d known who’d sent it. He hadn’t needed to see his brother’s name at the end of the short letter inside. For an instant, he’d considered just flinging the envelope into the fireplace or shredding it without bothering to read the words. His hands refused to cooperate, treacherous creatures that they were, and before he’d been able to stop himself, he opened the envelope and then the piece of paper inside was in his hands.

_Hey, Clint,_

_You’re a surprisingly hard man to find. I’ve been looing for you for awhile now. Don’t know when or if I would’ve caught a break until your name appeared in the news. Hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of sending you a letter. Figured that if I sent it to your school, they’d get it to you somehow._

_I probably shouldn’t be shocked that the first time I hear about you, it’s because you got yourself shot. You always did have a way of finding trouble. I guess that was something we both were pretty good at, huh?_

_I know I have a lot to say. I know I’ve got even more to apologize for but a letter seems a pretty impersonal way to do that. I doubt you’d be willing to meet up anytime soon, hell, given what happened, I’m guessing you’re probably not up for going anywhere. But I’ve got a phone and I’m pretty sure you do too, so if you’re willing, I’m including my number. Trust me when I say that I know I don’t even have a right to ask for that but, well, here’s me asking._

_I hope to hear from you soon but either way take care of yourself. You’re still my brother and I still care about you._

_Happy holidays, kid._

There was a phone number, New York area code, included at the bottom, right below where his brother signed, “Barney” as though Clint might have forgotten his name.

He startled as Lucky nudged her head beneath his hand, almost causing him to drop the letter, and then whined when he didn’t immediately start petting her. Distractedly, he shifted the letter to one hand and started to run his fingers through her fur. The familiarity of her helped; at the least it kept him from getting lost in his head. At least, he thought it had until another distraction came about.

“Penny for your thoughts, Clint?”

Natasha’s voice startled him more than he would have expected given that he thought he’d been reasonably focused on petting Lucky. He glanced up to find her standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand, staring at him. He hastily folded up the letter, shoving it back into the envelope. Immediately, he stopped himself when he realized what he was doing and how it probably looked to her. 

“It’s not what you think. Shit, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking but it’s probably not that. It’s not like a love letter or anything. From someone else. Or something.”

_That’s right, Barton, find yourself in a hole and you keep digging. Why’re you making her think you’ve got something to hide?_

Natasha just raised an eyebrow in that way that said so much more than anything she could have said verbally.

“It’s from my brother,” he finally said. “It was in the pile of mail you and Sam had gotten from my school mailbox before the semester ended. I hadn’t looked through any of it until now and I figured I should, just in case there was something important.”

“Your brother,” Natasha repeated. “The one you haven’t spoken to in years?”

“The one and only. I’m pretty sure this is where I make a quip about the prodigal son returning or something like that.”

He shoved the letter under the pillow as Natasha walked over to place the cup of coffee on the nightstand, and he immediately regretted the action when Natasha said, “I’m not going to invade your privacy, Clint. This is something that’s between you and him. If you want to share anything with me, you’re welcome to, but I’m not about to demand answers.”

The fact that Natasha gave him the freedom to choose actually made it easier for Clint to talk.

“I guess he saw my name in the news reports after the shooting.” He sighed. “Which I’d say was concerning, given that anyone could have sent me a letter after they released both my name and my school. Given that the Russians already know where to find me, though, I guess there’s no real reason to be concerned about that. But, yeah, he tracked me down. First time in damn near a decade, I think.”

“He have a reason for that?” She sat beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“He says he wants to apologize. Might be true, might not be. For all I know, he’s looking for money or a place to crash.”

“You seem to think he’s lacking in sincerity.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s his M.O.,” Clint snapped defensively.

“I wasn’t questioning your perception, Clint. I know nothing about him; clearly, you know more than I do. I was just making a statement.”

Clint groaned, flopping back on the bed and running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what he is. Hell, I don’t know who he is. We were kids the last time we saw each other. It’s been a long time since then. I guess he could have changed. I mean, people change, right? It happens. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “It sounds like you’re considering giving him a chance.”

“I guess I am. A part of me, a big part of me, to be honest, doesn’t want to. I don’t trust him. But… but he is my brother and as much as I hate to admit it, there’ve been times that I’ve missed him. Ever since I read the letter, I’ve kept telling myself that a phone call can’t hurt but somehow I’m afraid that’s not true.”

“What are you afraid will happen?”

“At my most paranoid, that he’ll somehow use the phone call to show up here,” Clint said. “But I guess that’s pretty dumb because he knows where I go to school, so he could just find me there if he wanted. Also, last I checked, you can’t just step through a phone. I guess I’m more afraid that I’ll get sucked into all of his bullshit again and I’ve got enough going on already without that happening.”

“What if I promised you that I wouldn’t let that happen?” Natasha inquired, her voice soft. 

“I’d wonder how you’d prevent it and then accept that you’ve probably got your ways,” he conceded. “I’d still be worried though.”

“Ultimately, it’s your choice. I’m not trying to force you to reconcile with your brother or anything. If he’s an asshole, you don’t need him in your life, simple as that. But if there is a part of you that at least wants to try, I promise that I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe if everything goes badly. Starting with getting you a disposable cell phone so that if he says shit you don’t like, you never have to speak to him again.”

“A disposable cell phone,” he repeated. “Huh, I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“I figured as much.” She reached down to ruffle his hair. “Now, once you’re done ruminating on this, get your ass downstairs. You and Sam turned this place into a train wreck and I expect you to help clean it up before the party tonight.”

“Yes, mistress,” he said, managing a slight grin that widened when she lightly smacked him with a pillow.

“Don’t sass me, Barton,” she warned, although he could see amusement in her eyes. “I’m already not pleased that I woke up to find pizza boxes and empty cups all over the floor. You’ve got a lot to make up.”

Although Natasha’s tone was joking, he was grateful that she turned away before she could see his face fall. As he dragged himself out of bed, reaching for the one crutch he’d upgraded to after the walking cast was put on, her words continued going around and around in his head and his thoughts moved in a direction that he would have preferred they didn’t.

Like his brother’s face after Clint had been deafened. Or the day of their parents’ funeral. Or the first time they decided to run away from a foster home together.

Or the last time they’d seen each other.

Yeah, Clint supposed. He did have a lot to make up for. 

But so did his brother.

-~-

JARVIS informing Tony that “Miss Potts” was on her way to his office came, naturally, as he was nearing what he was certain could be a breakthrough on his latest design, which he’d been stuck on for days. He ignored it completely and continued working until the door opened, and Pepper ordered JARVIS to turn the music down. The effect of the shift in the volume destroyed the last of his concentration, already shaken by her entrance. With a sigh, he abandoned his project for the time being and accepted that he’d be pulling a late night.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting you,” she said; her tone was not particularly business-like and instead a bit more casual. “I’d just wanted to talk to you before I finished for the day. I saw on your schedule that you’re going to Natasha’s this evening.”

He’s admittedly already forgotten all about that and he mentally revised his plan for working through the evening. In light of this realization, he’d either be working until dawn after he got back from the party – that had it’s perks, given that he frequently found his creativity increased when he’d had a couple drinks – or he’d be catching on his work early the next morning, which was a significantly less pleasant alternative because working through a hangover sucked.

That wasn’t his immediate concern and Pepper seemed to realize that, given that she seemed primed to revisit all of the arguments that they’d had following that last party and the incidents that followed.

Before she could even continue, Tony cut in. “Pepper, if this is to lecture me after what happened last time, I don’t need to hear it. I know I fucked up at Thanksgiving. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you, Tony,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “However, yes, I was a little concerned that we might experience a repeat of what happened the last time. If you recall, you had asked me if I wanted to come along with you then and I’d declined. In light of what happened, I’m wondering if that might be a good idea.”

“For what?” he asked, his mind already drifting away from their conversation and onto the project and how he was reasonably certain that another type of metal, a lighter one, might work better in the design.

“For me to come with you tonight,” Pepper said.

“Like, to the party?” he asked, his attention more focused now on her. “As a date?”

“No, not as a date,” she said, and this time the exasperation was substantially clearer. “As your personal assistant, to make certain that you don’t implode and destroy the empire that your family built. I refuse to fly back to provide damage control around the Christmas holidays, Tony. I am staying with my family this time but I want to make certain that everything goes smoothly and… and that you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Tony said shortly, adding in a shrug, as though her answer hadn’t been exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “Well, in the name of keeping this company afloat, I suppose I really can’t argue. What time should I pick you up?”

“You shouldn’t. I’ll meet you here at 7:30. Just promise me that you won’t already be drunk by then because if you are, I swear I will lock you in a closet if it means preventing you from going.”

“Give me some credit, Pepper,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. “I can control myself. I’ll see you at 7:30 and I’ll be perfectly sober when you arrive.”

She studied him carefully. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He didn’t point out, as she walked away, that he hadn’t agreed to remain sober after she arrived. That probably wouldn’t have gone over particularly well.

He did, however, quickly call her name when it occurred to him that there was something problematic in that plan. After all, despite the fact that he already knew about the twins, that wasn’t something she knew and he should probably make her aware of that – and make certain he could trust her with that information – before she arrived at Natasha’s house and saw them there that evening.

When he didn’t immediately speak, she raised an eyebrow. “Tony? What’s going on? Please don’t tell me you’re about to provide me with an indepth argument explaining exactly why it’s fine for you to pregame before I show up this evening.”

He scowled at her in response. “No, nothing like that. There’s just something you should probably be aware of. You know those twins who were all over the TV a few weeks back?”

“Talbot’s children,” she said slowly. Tony clearly didn’t control his reaction to that particularly well and must have looked just as disgusted as he felt given that Pepper’s expression went from irritated to more serious. “What about them?”

“They’re at Natasha’s place,” he said bluntly. “You’ll see them tonight. Please don’t ask questions. You probably don’t want to know the answers. Just trust that they are safe there in a way that they would not be safe anywhere else.”

Pepper studied him intently and he could practically see her processing the information before nodding. “Alright. I’ll trust you on that. From what I’ve seen in the news, the two of them are adults. It shouldn’t really matter to anyone where they’re staying and I’d be more than happy to keep that piece of information to myself.”

“You have to,” he said seriously. “Pepper, you know that I trust you.” 

He could see her start the slightest bit at those words, almost as though she were prepared to argue and say that no, in fact, she did not know that at all, and so he pressed on.

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be telling you this, okay? Don’t ask me why, but I want those kids safe. I know enough about their father to know that they’re much better off where they are right now.”

Pepper exhaled slowly. “Alright. Message heard loud and clear. I will not speak about them to anyone else. I will not let anyone know that I’ve seen them. I will keep this secret. Is that the assurance you need?”

When he responded to that by turning his attention back onto the project at hand, he heard a slight sigh of exasperation before she said, “If that is all, Mr. Stark, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes.” 

“Behave yourself in the meantime and don’t forget to review the new proposals,” she said as she made her way out the door, leaving him with the parting words, “If they’re not done by the time I return, I may have to veto your holiday partying.”

Tony watched her go before sighing at the thought of reviewing paperwork for hours. He turned back to his project, despite the fact that his inspiration was long gone. Once he turned the music back on, he had no doubt his focus would improve. Before then, there were a lot of things he needed to think about, starting with the fact that Pepper would be accompanying him this evening. While she swore it wasn’t a date, it was close enough for his liking. At the least, it might make this evening bearable.

He also had to think on the letter sitting on his desk, the one he’d be bringing to Steve that evening. Christmastime seemed the best time to deliver the good news and maybe, just maybe, he’d have the chance to talk to Steve about everything. Maybe, after giving Steve the letter, he might actually be receptive to an apology. 

All of those thoughts were substantially better than thinking about the fact that in another day, Pepper would be gone for the next two weeks and he’d be spending the holidays either focused on his projects or drinking himself into oblivion, whichever came first. Probably some combination thereof, if he were to be honest.

But if he waited much longer to get back to work, he might completely forget his latest burst of brilliance and what a travesty that would be.

“Hey, JARVIS,” he said, his voice breaking the almost silence that had settled over the room. “Turn the music up.”

-~-

Maybe it was the whiskey from the hot toddy already kicking in, but Bucky felt warm and content and comfortable. He and Steve had only been at Natasha’s for 15 minutes, and she’d shoved a warm drink into each of their hands the moment they’d arrived. He hadn’t protested, given that the cold air outside had burned his throat and his breath felt as though it were about to solidify into solid ice without exhalation. With his body responding that strongly, he’d been concerned about Steve and a potential asthma attack, and therefore grateful for the warm drink the moment they arrived. Now the two of them were curled up on the couch with Steve settled on Bucky’s lap. Steve’s head easily nestled against Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky was more than happy to curl one arm around him as they both finished their first drinks of the evening.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Natasha asked, taking a seat on the couch across from them.

“No more flight,” Bucky said with a wry smile. “After considering everything and weighing the pros and cons of flying versus taking a train, I ended up going for the latter option and cancelled my flight. The two of them take about the same time when you factor in security and all of that, especially when we’re talking about getting my metal arm through security. Becca’s flying in bright and early tomorrow and she’ll take the train back with me for moral support. I think we’re scheduled to leave at noon and the train trip is a little over three hours, so I should be back home before 4:00 if everything goes according to plan.” 

“You didn’t tell me Becca was coming into town,” Natasha chided him. “You know I haven’t seen her in forever and she’s my favorite of your siblings.” 

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said with a grin. “Well, if you’re sober and awake enough to show up at Shield before 10 tomorrow morning, she’ll be there.”

“You’ll love her,” Natasha assured Steve. “She keeps Bucky in line.”

“Hey, now that she’s 19 and a college student, I’m the one keeping her on the straight and narrow,” Bucky retorted. “She’s a good kid though. I’ve missed her.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Steve asked. 

“Three, including Becca,” Bucky said. “She’s the second oldest and was always the one I was closest with, probably because of the proximity in age. You’ll meet all of them when you visit.”

“Getting nervous about meeting the family, Rogers?” Sam asked, as he settled down beside Natasha. 

“I think I can handle it,” Steve said. “Seeing as I was an only child, I guess it is a little strange to meet your family when I’m not used to a bunch of siblings.” 

“I promise that only Becca will interrogate you,” Bucky said as seriously as he could manage, although he was pretty sure that his lips curved into an amused smirk. “My mom and dad are just looking forward to meeting you after hearing so much about you.”

“Gee, no pressure,” Steve said dryly. 

“C’mon, Rogers, if I could handle meeting Nat’s father, you can handle this,” Clint said as he entered the room, followed by the twins. 

Bucky resisted the urge to comment on how they followed Clint like ducklings since he had no doubt that neither one of them would appreciate that remark. All words died on his lips when he noticed that Natasha stiffened at the mention of her father and the room got uncomfortably quiet. Clearly the situation between Natasha, Clint, and her father had not yet been resolved. Come to think of it, it occurred to him that he hadn’t heard Natasha mention her father when bringing up her holiday plans.

Before Bucky could consider whether or not to say anything, either now or later, Natasha rose to her feet and walked over to the Christmas tree. She picked up a box and handed it to Steve. 

“Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and all that jazz. I wanted you to open your present before Tony arrived. I figured that you would particularly appreciate that, James, when you see what I got Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I should be concerned. Also insulted that you apparently got him something horrifically embarrassing about me and didn’t get me anything.”

“Your present is coming,” Sam said with a grin. “It’s a joint present from all three of us.”

“As for the present for Steve, I was just going through old pictures on my phone and found one that I thought he might like to hang up in his room,” Natasha said with a predatory smile.

With those words, Steve immediately ripped the wrapping paper off, and Bucky considered whether there was any way he could extricate himself from underneath Steve and disappear into the kitchen before this was over. There were a large number of pictures that he could recall Natasha taking of him over the years and quite a few of those were ones he would not want to see in blown up full-sized picture form.

His worst fears were confirmed when Steve choked, despite the fact that he hadn’t been drinking anything in the past couple of seconds, and then doubled up with laughter. Bucky scrambled to grab the framed picture, which wasn’t much of an effort given that Steve was laughing too hard to stop him. 

For an instant, he couldn’t figure out what he was looking at, and then the image in front of him clicked and he recalled the exact moment when the picture was taken. The framed image showed a panicked Bucky, maybe 15 or 16, his pants halfway off and around his ankles, falling backwards over the couch. Attached to his pants was Kisa, her claws embedded in the fabric, hissing in fury over getting stuck in the material.

“Alright, it’s official. I’m giving you coal for Christmas and burning the present I bought you,” Bucky said, placing the picture on the couch beside Steve. 

“First off, was that meant for me or Steve?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. “Second of all, you don’t like it?” 

“First of all, both of you. Second of all, why would I like a picture of your cat trying to murder me?” Bucky returned.

“Because she wasn’t. My baby wouldn’t have done that. Her claws had just gotten stuck on your pants, poor thing. She was more frightened of you than you were of her. You overreacted.” 

“I sincerely doubt that,” Bucky muttered with feigned bitterness.

“Barnes, you might want to make sure Steve isn’t dying,” Sam suggested. “The boy might need his inhaler.” 

“For as long as he’s laughing at me, he can totally choke,” Bucky said, although he rubbed Steve’s back. “I’m setting the picture on fire, by the way. Sorry, Steve. Natasha’s not allowed to give you presents ever again.”

Steve choked out, “Can’t breathe” although speaking seemed to help him regulate his breathing, enough that he was no longer gasping quite as much. Enough that he asked, “Christ, how are you guys holding it together? That picture is ridiculous.”

“Because we’ve already seen it,” Pietro said with a grin.

“And memorized it,” Wanda added.

“And gotten super meta and snapped a picture of the picture with our phones,” Sam agreed.

“I hate you all,” Bucky said with a mock scowl.

“You love us.” Natasha leaned over the back of the couch to ruffle his hair. “I’ll make it up to you with another drink.”

“Make it a double on the rocks and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Bucky said grudgingly, although he was grateful to see that Steve was starting to breathe normally again since he had hoped not to need to grab an inhaler for him.

Despite his somewhat feigned irritation, he really didn’t mind. It was nice to see Steve laughing. After the events of the past several months – or, in Bucky’s case, the last year – it was nice to have a lighthearted discussion. Last year at this time he hadn’t been celebrating at all. This time last year – 

No, that wasn’t a place he wanted his thoughts to go. Not tonight. Even though as he accepted his fresh drink from Natasha, he could see by the way she swallowed hard as she handed it over, at complete odds with the smile plastered to her face, that he wasn’t the only one whose thoughts had gone in that direction. With the date coming up – or already past, he couldn’t completely put a timeline together after it all – it wasn’t surprising that they’d both be thinking of that.

Definitely not what he wanted to be dwelling on now. Not when he had Steve curled up against him and his friends all around him. Things were nowhere near where they’d been the previous year. He’d come a very, very long way since then. Much further than he ever could have imagined at that time. 

-~-

From what Steve could gather, this party was going significantly better than Friendsgiving, aside from the incredibly tense moment when Tony showed up with Pepper in tow. Apparently he’d forgotten to mention this fact to Natasha, which infuriated her and terrified the twins, who’d immediately bolted for the stairs so they could prevent Pepper from seeing them, despite the fact that she already had. Tony had quickly informed Natasha that he’d already told Pepper about the twins and sworn her to secrecy, which clearly did not please Natasha, though she’d accepted it.

The twins had only grudgingly returned to their previous position on the beanbag chair and seemed primed to run again at the slightest of triggers, but as the conversation and alcohol started to flow, the atmosphere in the room shifted to one slightly more comfortable. With the attention no longer on them, the twins relaxed a bit and the conversation focused on everyone’s holiday plans. Tony didn’t say much about his own, although he asked multiple questions of all of the others, almost as though he were trying to keep the conversation off of himself.

Although there was plenty of alcohol going around, Bucky seemed to be decently maintaining his sobriety, which Steve was relieved to see. The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to get shitfaced again, as he had on Friendsgiving. But he seemed to be drinking an amount of alcohol on par with what everyone else drank and moderating his intake to a reasonable degree. Tony seemed to be behaving himself as well, at least as it pertained to alcohol. Steve hoped against hope that would continue.

Before too much alcohol could be consumed, Natasha herded everyone into the dining room, then asked Bucky and Sam if they would be willing to help her with bringing in the food, explaining that she didn’t trust Clint’s ability to carry food and use his crutch at the same time. That left Steve in the awkward position of sitting with Clint, Tony, and Pepper, seeing as the twins had remained in the living room, a move that was rather reminiscent of Steve’s cousins’ behavior over holiday meals when they used to have family gatherings. There was a reason there had always been an adult table and a kid’s table. 

Clint, for his part, looked rather distracted and preoccupied. While Pepper was perfectly pleasant to speak with, Steve had the strange feeling that despite the presence of the others, he was sitting alone with Tony. This feeling became a reality a few moments later when Tony, rather abruptly, pushed his chair back and stood up. 

“Rogers, could we chat for a moment?” When Steve made no immediate sign of moving, he added, “Privately?” as though there were some question of that.

Steve glanced at Pepper for some sort of reassurance, but she seemed as clueless as Steve felt. He contemplated stalling, to see if Tony would push the matter with Bucky in the room, but decided that wasn’t the best option either because Tony likely would do exactly that and Steve doubted that Bucky would take it particularly well if he did.

So, instead, he got to his feet and said, “Sure.”

With the twins in the living room and the others in the kitchen or dining room, he led the way upstairs. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea, seeing as that was the location of the bedrooms and he didn’t want Tony – or Bucky – getting any ideas about that. Still, there wasn’t anywhere else for them to go if Tony wanted privacy. Steve stopped in the hallway and turned to face Tony, his arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised. 

When Tony didn’t speak, he inquired, “Well? What’s up?” 

Tony reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “Here. Merry Christmas, Rogers, or whatever. Since this just came in, I figured now was as good a time as any to give it to you.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, without opening it. 

Tony’s eyes flashed with the slightest bit of irritation. “How about you open it and then ask questions. It’s what you asked me to do.” 

Steve slid his fingers into the side of the envelope, tearing the flap open, and pulled out the letter inside. He scanned the contents of the paper, noting key words that included Bucky’s name and license number and read enough to realize what this was. 

“You did it,” he said slowly. “You got the case dropped against him?”

“I did. His license is no longer in jeopardy. He could go back to work tomorrow if he wanted, although I’m guessing he probably won’t since he mentioned that he’s heading home then. Still, you can let the clients know you’ve got a piercist back and get Darcy to start booking him on the schedule again for when he returns.”

“Tony,” Steve started, and then stopped, finding that he was at a loss for words. Despite the fact that he’d asked for Tony to do this for him, a part of him hadn’t believed that Tony would come through. Not after everything else that he'd done in the past. The fact that Tony had followed up on the request and, more than that, fixed the entire situation – and Steve was pretty sure he didn’t want to know how that had been done – gave him a different sense of Tony entirely. He’d pretty much convinced himself that aside from monetary support, Tony couldn’t be counted on. 

This destroyed that image in his head. 

“It’s fine, Rogers.” Tony raised a hand as though to brush off Steve’s words. “No need to thank me. I told you I’d do it and I did. Consider it done in interest of protecting my investment in the shop. You’ve lost too many employees over the past year. I didn’t want to see your boyfriend end up as one of ‘em.”

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely. “It means a lot to me, Tony, and it will mean even more to Bucky. I can’t wait to tell him.” 

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, wait until after the party. I don’t need everyone here treating me like a saint or anything.” 

“No, you wouldn’t want that,” Steve said, unable to help his tone turning sarcastic. “But in all seriousness, I really am grateful.”

The two stood there, staring at one another in the sudden awkward silence that followed those words, and then Tony spoke again.

“Look, Rogers, now might not be the best time but I just wanted to… I mean… I just wanted to apologize. You know. For everything that happened.”

Steve felt his muscles tense in response to those words. “You want to elaborate on that? I’m not entirely sure I’m clear on what you’re talking about.”

Tony’s sigh was filled with barely suppressed irritation. “You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about us and how I treated you afterwards. It wasn’t fair.”

“Oh, so you’re talking about how we slept together a couple of times,” Steve said, his tone hardening. “How I thought it meant something because of your reputation. Everyone knows you never sleep with the same person twice. Since our one night stand turned into two and then three and so on, I made the mistake of thinking that maybe things were different between us. Until you told me otherwise three months after things started between us. Is that it, or am I off?”

Tony swallowed hard at that. “I know. That was fucked up of me. Especially the way I did it. I shouldn’t have been sleeping with you to begin with. I mean, hell, you were technically an employee of mine and - ”

There Steve cut him off. “I really don’t want to do this tonight, alright, Tony? I don’t need to hear about how much you regret getting involved with me because I was an employee and you took advantage of me and any of that.” 

“Then what do you want to hear?” Tony asked bluntly. 

“I’d like to see you take accountability,” Steve snapped. “I’d like to get a sense that you actually understand why I’m angry and hurt. It’s got nothing to do with the employment issue. It fucking hurt to be treated like I meant nothing to you and was completely disposable and you don’t seem to get that, which shouldn’t surprise me given that from what I’ve heard, you’ve kept on doing that to other people.” Steve started to speak again, then stopped himself and shook his head. “No, really, what I would have wanted is for you to never have asked me that question. Because I didn’t want to answer it and I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want you to just say the things you now know I’ve wanted to hear because I won’t know if it’s genuine or just your attempt to smooth this situation over once and for all.”

“Point taken,” Tony said, and the fact that he sounded genuine when he said it decreased Steve’s frustration the slightest bit. “Alright. For tonight then, let’s leave it with me saying that I’m sorry and admitting that I’m still trying to figure out how to make up for what I did.”

Steve exhaled and then, in a much softer tone, said, “Yeah, well, fixing things for Buck was a good start. Thank you, Tony.”

Tony nodded and once the silence between them became oppressive and uncomfortable once more, Steve glanced towards the stairs and said, “We should probably get back.”

Without waiting for a response, he started down, the envelope clasped in his hands. He tried to keep his mind focused on that rather than ruminating on the conversation he’d just had. Thinking back to the shame and anger he’d felt when Tony had made it clear to him that their relationship, if it could even be called that, had meant nothing to him wasn’t where he wanted his thoughts to go. That didn’t matter anymore. Now he had Bucky and Bucky had never, and Steve doubted would ever, make Steve doubt himself the way Tony had.

None of that was worth thinking about now. All Steve wanted to imagine was Bucky’s face when Steve told him the good news.


	37. Blessed Be The Boys Time Can't Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky reunites with his family and gets a Christmas surprise and Clint has a conversation with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note One: I know that this chapter is not representative of how getting a service dog works in the real world. That actually will be addressed more in the next chapter.
> 
> Note Two: I'm so sorry for the long delay in posting. We moved two weeks ago and things have been pretty chaotic since then. My goal is still to complete this fic before the one year anniversary and preferably before I start work in August. We are traveling again next week but I am hopeful that 1) I will get some work done on the final three chapters before then and 2) I will have time to work on some writing during the trip.

The morning after the Christmas party dawned in grey and darkness. Steve took a second look at his clock when the alarm went off to make certain he hadn’t set it for the wrong time. Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and his hope of being able to sleep for a few more minutes was dashed. While he and Bucky hadn’t gotten back too late the previous evening – they’d hitched a ride with Tony in his limo well before midnight – one thing had led to another once they got to the apartment, and that led to a loss of clothes, and not falling asleep until maybe two in the morning.

Bucky buried his face against Steve’s shoulder and made a quiet, sad sound of discontent that almost convinced Steve to stay in bed. 

Instead, he patiently reminded Bucky, “Becca’s supposed to be here soon, right? It’s already after eight.” When Bucky seemed disinclined to consider that line of thinking, Steve followed it up by pointing out, “C’mon, you really don’t want your sister to find us half-naked in bed together.”

Bucky, who was managing to form words instead of miserable sounds, responded with, “Even if Darcy’s already opened up the shop, the door to the apartment’s locked and the chances of Becca breaking in are slim to none… although if I had to suspect any of my siblings of knowing how to pick a lock, it’d probably be her. Knowing my luck, Nat probably taught her.” 

“Natasha knows how to pick a lock?” Steve asked, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Nat knows everything,” Bucky responded with a faint grin.

Despite his protests, he accepted his fate and dragged himself out of bed and towards the shower. Steve took a few moments to study his scheduled appointments for the day, none earlier than noon because he’d wanted to be able to properly say goodbye to Bucky. He realized that this would be the first time the two of them had slept separately in quite awhile. The thought of that made him feel sadder than he would have expected, given that it would be less than a week before he reunited with Bucky in New York.

Realizing the pointlessness of dwelling on that when Bucky was just in the next room, Steve followed after to join him in the shower. Sleepy and soapy kisses followed, among other things that Steve sincerely hoped Bucky’s sister wouldn’t overhear if she broke into the apartment while they were in there. By the time they finished, Bucky was complaining that his legs were no longer supporting him and Steve was feeling grateful that no one was likely to see the marks he’d left over Bucky’s thighs and hipbones. The marks on Steve’s throat were likely to be a bit harder to cover but at least the worst of the bruising was on his chest and stomach.

In retrospect, they probably should have thought twice about those activities and the marks that followed given that they were about to visit their respective families for the holidays. 

When Steve verbalized that thought, Bucky countered with a grin and the words, “Each of us needs something to remember each other by, right? Which totally means these marks were definitely necessary.” 

Bucky then smiled in a way that was 1) creepily reminiscent of the “I’m going to eat you alive” smile Steve had seen Natasha give Sam and Clint on various occasions and 2) utterly distracting in a way that made Steve want to drag Bucky back into the shower for another round despite the fact that by now the water had run cold.

Bucky, sadly, didn’t seem to share those thoughts, given that he was already reaching for his clothes. As he tugged on a pair of jeans, still attempting to towel dry his hair with his free hand, Steve caught sight of the envelope he’d left on the nightstand the previous night, since he’d intended on sharing the good news with Bucky once they were back. As Bucky paused in getting dressed to start sifting through the backpack he’d stuffed full of all the belongings he’d need for the next week – which Steve 100% didn’t mind since that meant Bucky was bending over, jeans hanging low on his hips, his torso completely bare aside from the towel now draped around his neck – Steve managed to force himself to focus on getting dressed himself before he reached for the envelope.

Bucky caught the movement and straightened up, looking curious. “What’s that?”

Steve silently handed him the letter and then, as Bucky opened it and started to read through the contents inside, explained, “After the complaint was lodged against you, I called Tony to see if there was anything he could do to fix it. Apparently there was.”

Bucky stilled, either in response to Steve’s words or what he was reading and then, after reading and rereading the same part several times, he looked up. Steve couldn’t quite read his gaze, although he was pretty sure that Bucky didn’t look angry, which Steve had feared. He knew that Bucky got defensive about Tony at times and he didn’t want Bucky to respond negatively just because Tony had done him a favor upon Steve’s request.

“This is legit?” he asked quietly. 

Steve, still uncertain of Bucky’s mood, nodded. 

At that, Bucky’s face broke into a smile that widened by the second as he looked down at the paper and then back at Steve. “Holy shit, Steve! This means I can get back to work after the holidays!”

“Yeah, I was going to tell Darcy to put you back on the schedule around January 3rd.”

“Oh fucking Christ, Steve, this is amazing.” 

He practically tackled Steve, although Steve was pretty sure it was meant to be a hug. Steve couldn’t help but smile as he wrapped his arms around Bucky as tightly as he could. 

“Merry Christmas, Buck.”

Bucky’s arms tightened around him once before releasing him and he straightened back up. The smile remained huge on his face, although a joking tone entered his voice as he said, “And here I thought you’d already given me my present.” To accent the words, he nodded towards his backpack where Steve knew the small, wrapped package he’d given Bucky was tucked inside.

Steve just grinned. “Seems like you’ve been especially well-behaved this year, seeing as you got two whole presents.” And that wasn’t even counting the other present that Steve knew was coming his way. Not that he was about to mention that and ruin the surprise. Instead, he nudged Bucky and added, “Now, c’mon, you probably want a shirt on before your sister arrives.”

Bucky retorted, “I thought you liked seeing me shirtless” but reluctantly placed the letter back on the nightstand and finished getting dressed.

Before he’d even had the chance to tug his shirt on, his phone chimed and he tugged it out of his pant’s pocket. His face lit up once again when he read the message.

“Becca says she’s almost here. She caught a taxi from the airport.”

“In that case, let’s get downstairs.” Steve reached for Bucky’s free hand.

Bucky shoved his phone back into his pocket and willingly followed Steve down the stairs. At the bottom, the two of them found Darcy already seated behind the counter, book in hand, which she immediately placed down on the counter when she saw them.

“Morning, boss. Morning, Robocop,” she greeted.

Steve glanced at Bucky with a grin. “Do you want to tell her the good news?” 

Darcy looked intrigued. “What good news?”

“Oh, you know, just the little piece of news about how I’m coming back to work on January 3rd,” Bucky said, unable to keep his face from lighting up once again.

Steve was so pleased to see how happy Bucky looked. Bucky had been doing his best to remain optimistic, even as the situation dragged on and on, but Steve could now see that the news had reinvigorated him. His eyes were brighter and it looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Darcy squealed in excitement and ran over to throw her arms around Bucky. “That’s the best news ever! I’m so happy for you!”

“Yeah, well, you can thank Steve for that,” Bucky said with a laugh. “He’s the one who made it all happen.” 

Before Steve could point out that technically he wasn’t the one responsible for Bucky’s reinstatement, the bell jingled over the door and an unfamiliar voice shrieked Bucky’s name. Bucky stepped back from Darcy and turned as there was a blur of movement before a young girl with dark hair, scarf trailing behind her, quite literally leapt into his arms.

Given how jumpy Bucky was on the best of days, Steve was surprised – and impressed – by the fact that he barely even flinched and easily caught the girl as she jumped on him. Even more surprising was the fact that he laughed in response, rather than looking unnerved and startled. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and he returned the gesture before she released her grip and he settled her down on her feet.

“Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, pulling him into another hug before he could even get a word out. 

Steve watched, amused, as Bucky laughed and hugged her again. “I’ve missed you too, Bec. It’s been awhile.”

“Like, well over six months of a while, jerk,” she said, pulling back and placing her hands on her hips. Now with a clear view of her, Steve could definitely see the family resemblance.

“Six months with barely any calls and emails,” she added pointedly.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were at school,” he countered. “You’re a college girl now. I figured you didn’t need to hear from me all the time.” 

“Yeah, well, you were wrong,” she said lightly. “Which means that I expect you to make up for it when we’re home and contribute properly to my delinquent behaviors. Also to contact me more often after the holidays. I need to know what’s going on with you.”

Her eyes fell on Steve and she openly gasped. “Like telling me all about your new boyfriend who is utterly adorable.”

“This is Steve,” Bucky said with a grin. “Steve, meet my younger sister Becca. She has boundless energy.”

“Not usually this much,” Becca assured him. “But after catching a flight that left before dawn, I drank more coffee than usual.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Steve said, extending his hand to her. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Trust me when I say that none of it’s true,” she said, shaking his offered hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you too. By which I mean, my brother never shuts up about you, at least the one or two times he actually called me.”

Bucky flushed the slightest bit in response to that. “She’s exaggerating.” 

“Trust me, I’m not” Becca said, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“Says the person who was just complaining that I didn’t call them often enough,” Bucky grumbled.

That was the moment the bell over the door rang again and this time Natasha stepped inside. Steve automatically looked beyond her, just as Darcy did as well, for the twins, only to register they weren’t there. He saw Darcy swallow hard, as though she were dying to ask about them, and then registered that her eyes shifted from the doorway over to where Becca was standing. Natasha didn’t miss a beat, despite the fact that she clearly noted their eyes on her, and went straight to where Becca was standing to hug her.

“Nat!” Becca said, returning the hug. “It’s been forever.”

“It has been. I’ve missed you, kid. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Becca said with a shrug. “Studying, writing papers. Guessing that’s been your life too lately.”

“You know it. I was so very ready for winter break.” Natasha glanced over at Darcy before saying, “But we can discuss that more on the way to the station, since you and your brother have a train to catch.” 

Steve felt his heart twist in response to those words, in a way he wouldn’t have expected given that he’d known about this trip for weeks. It wasn’t as though he and Bucky would be apart for all that long. Clearly the two of them had become far too codependent over the past few months if he was reacting so strongly to the thought of Bucky heading home for the holidays.

He forced a smile, which became more genuine when Bucky walked over to him and pulled him into a kiss. For all of the affection the two of them had shown one another over the course of the morning, and the previous evening, Steve found that he couldn’t get enough of it. He returned the kiss, not caring in the slightest that the two of them had a full audience, and didn’t register that the two of them might have gotten a bit too into it until Natasha cleared her throat pointedly. When he straightened up, he found Natasha shielding Becca’s eyes with her hands.

“Steven Grant Rogers, please do not irreparably scar this child with your public displays of affection with her brother. Growing up, I couldn’t even give him a peck on the lips when his siblings were around, let alone shove my tongue down his throat like you just did.”

“I wasn’t shoving my tongue down his throat,” Steve argued, a bit breathlessly. 

Bucky just grinned a lopsided grin. “Sorry, Bec. I guess I got carried away.”

“I’ll say,” she grumbled, pushing Natasha’s hands away from her eyes. “But I forgive you.”

“Before I have to separate you two again, James, how about you grab your bag and we’ll head out to the car,” Natasha suggested. “That way I can get the two of you to the station well before your train leaves and not add any additional anxiety to today.”

Bucky nodded his agreement but pressed one more kiss to Steve’s lips before darting up the stairs to grab his bag, coming back down a few moments later with it in hand and pausing long enough to kiss Steve once again. 

“Remember to tell Nat and your sister your good news,” he suggested with a smile.

Bucky’s eyes lit up at that, which naturally led to another kiss, before Bucky murmured, “Merry Christmas, Steve. I’ll let you know when we get in and I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Merry Christmas,” Steve echoed, reluctantly stepping back as Bucky moved towards the door, following Natasha and followed by his sister, each of whom said their own goodbyes to Steve and Darcy.

Once Bucky was gone, Steve found himself at a loss to do until Darcy said, “Please stop looking like a lovesick puppy, boss. Your first client will be arriving soon and I’m pretty sure you have some stuff to set up before that happens.” 

Steve nodded, relieved to have a direction to focus on, rather than focusing instead on the fact that Bucky was gone and the apartment would feel different without him there whenever Steve eventually headed back upstairs. He checked the calendar once more to reaffirm the order of appointments in his head and then headed back to the office to get the designs organized and reviewed before pulling his equipment for the day.

He tried not to think of how strange it would be to not see Bucky’s toothbrush sitting in the holder in the bathroom that evening.

-~-

With earbuds firmly planted and playing a continuous stream of music and Becca’s arm pressed against his own, Bucky felt substantially less like he was about to crawl out of his skin than he’d expected. It helped that they’d secured seats at the back of the train, which meant there was no one sitting behind him, gave easy access to the back door, and Becca had positioned herself between Bucky and the aisle, probably, in retrospect, on Natasha’s recommendation. Having Becca with him definitely helped and although he felt the tiniest bit of guilt over the fact that she’d flown in that morning just to provide him with support, he knew this trip would have been much harder without her.

He still couldn’t help himself from scanning the others seated in the car, looking for any body language that would tip him off into recognizing a threat. His eyes also consistently darted towards the bags stowed on the overhead racks and at the other end of the car and he was far too cognizant of the fact that unlike travel by airplane, there were no metal detectors or scanners to readily identify any potential threats on the train. He tried to keep his mind from going too far in that direction and reminded himself of the security videos the powers that be played in the waiting room, despite the fact that he sincerely believed everything he’d heard in them was bullshit.

Still, he was keeping it together, either because he’d learned more skills and was more effectively implementing them, or because he’d knocked back a Xanax and after months of taking the medication infrequently, his body responded to it more strongly than it might have when he was taking three pills a day. His heart wasn’t beating out of his chest, his breathing was pretty steady and even, and that had to be some sort of a victory.

On the one hand, he was somewhat frustrated with himself for letting his thoughts move in those directions. Those were too much of a throwback to how he’d been in his early days, always on high alert and scanning for threats, and he’d thought that he’d gotten considerably better at monitoring those impulses since then. On the other hand, this was his first time traveling by train in quite awhile and with the upcoming holidays, the train was filled to capacity.

Becca focused on her book, although every so often she’d glance at him, as if to make certain he was coping alright, and he’d offer her a smile and she’d return to reading. He had to admit that she’d been right to call him out on his lack of communication, not that he’d been communicating with much of anyone after he’d moved. Despite the fact that the goal had to be to get him in a better place mentally and physically speaking than he’d been before, in actuality he’d struggled considerably for the first several months and he’d been too ashamed to tell his family there hadn’t been a miraculous change in his recovery.

When he’d first moved sometime around mid-to-late-March last year – with the mental fog and dissociation he’d still been experiencing then, he had difficulty identifying a clear timeline; he figured it could have been later or earlier – the first few months were mostly marked by his twice or three time a week doctor’s appointments. Natasha did her best to keep him on a schedule by waking him up, making sure he ate meals, and putting up with his constant nightmares when he slept by often staying up late and stroking his hair until his meds took effect and he passed out, as well as sharing his bed to provide him with grounding and support when he woke up from nightmares several hours later. 

Sometime over the summer, the haze he’d been in, where he couldn’t remember things from one moment to the next, seemed to lift a bit and he realized that he’d barely been in contact with his family over the past couple of months. Thankfully, he discovered that Natasha and Sam had both been providing them regular updates. Several therapy sessions had focused on helping Bucky to formulate emails to his parents and siblings, where he apologized for his silence, assured them that he was making progress, and promised to do his best to keep them updated himself.

Overall, he’d done a pretty good job with that. They’d known when he started working at Shield, although his communication had gone down a bit after the incident with Rumlow. Still, reflecting back on where he’d been at this time the previous year, he could see how far he’d come. Even if he was still struggling to completely relax in crowded places like train stations.

Bucky’s positive thoughts faded as the train eased into the stop at Penn Station. He tugged his headphones out of his ears, tucking his iPod back into his bag before following after his sister. Immediately, he found that his senses were completely overwhelmed. If he’d thought Union Station and the train itself were busy and packed, they were nothing compared with Penn Station. People moved in every which direction and Bucky rapidly realized that he couldn’t possibly scan for every potential threat in the surrounding area.

Becca seemed to register the shift in his mood, given that she reached for his hand, and his mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that everyone could tell that he was starting to freak out because of course his heart was beating far too fast and his breathing was already coming in gasps. His free hand went to his pocket, grasping the marble to ground himself as much as possible, as he tried to even out his breath. When that failed to fully work, he tried to pull from various grounding techniques, starting with the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 game. 

However, that lasted only two seconds before he realized that starting with the five things he could see was already utterly overwhelming to him because there was just far too much to see, and he hadn’t even gone ahead towards things he could touch or hear or smell. The auditory and visual input alone were enough to completely overwhelm him. 

Instead, he focused on Becca’s hand, the warmth and texture of her skin, how small it felt when grasped in his own. He focused on the marble in his metal hand, despite the fact that he wasn’t getting as much sensory information from that – this was one of those times when he regretted not at least considering the various neural implants recommended to experience actual sensation through the prosthetic - but he could pull well enough from memory, not to mention the minimal sensory input he did receive. Otherwise, he kept his head down, his attention on Becca, and let her lead him through the station. Every person that brushed against him made his skin crawl but he forced himself to maintain control, to not freak out and lose his shit in public.

By the time Becca slowed and said, “I see dad,” Bucky could feel his muscles starting to tremble as though he’d run a marathon. 

_Try to look normal_ , he told himself. _Everything’s fine, you’re fine, and in just a few minutes, you’ll be in the car and you’ll be safe._

He fixed a smile on his face, hoping that would at least initially curb any concern from his father, and managed to look up from where he’d been staring at the ground. Just as Becca said, he could see their father through the crowd, scanning around for them. When his eyes fell on the two of them, he waved and Becca hurried forward, tugging Bucky with her.

“James, it’s so good to see you,” he said.

Bucky noticed that his father kept his distance, waiting for Bucky to take the step forward himself to hug him. He appreciated the gesture, given that the last time his dad had seen him, he hadn’t exactly been receptive to the majority of physical affection of any sort, unless he was the one to initiate it. 

“It’s good to see you too, dad,” he murmured, pleased that he was managing to still formulate words by this point. 

Becca cleared her throat pointedly and their father relinquished his grip on Bucky and turned to her. 

“It’s good to see you too, Becca, although we only said goodbye to you this morning.”

Becca seemed mollified by that and then glanced at Bucky, then back to their father, and asked, “Where’d you park the car?” 

Bucky appreciated the discreet nature of the question and the fact that Becca had saved him from insisting that he needed to get to the car before he had a public meltdown. 

As they headed towards the exit, their father explained, “I parked in a garage a couple of blocks away. Not perfect but the best I could get. You know how it goes.”

He glanced at Bucky when he said that, as if to ascertain whether he was up for walking that far.

Bucky automatically assured him, “That’s fine, dad. I could use some fresh air after a couple of hours on the train.”

After all, not walking would have meant waiting on the crowded streets of New York, which meant that Bucky was more than willing to walk to the car. Being outside made him feel less penned in and trapped. Despite the fact that he was still dealing with large groups of people, he found it easier to focus and maintain a sense of calm. 

Ten minutes and a few flights of stairs later and he settled into the backseat of the car. The sudden quiet and stillness that followed made him realize how exhausted he felt. It wasn’t just his muscles trembling but a greater sense of being drained of energy. He supposed that fighting off an anxiety attack probably took almost as much out of him as having the actual attack would have, though that thought didn’t bring him much relief. Especially not when he noticed that the overhead light in the car felt almost as though it were putting pressure on his eyeballs and there was a faint ringing in his ears. Either because of those or just because his body sucked, he found that it was hard to focus his eyes on anything and had the sinking sense that his body – or the world itself – was tipping sideways. 

All of those together spelled trouble. 

“Hey, you okay?” Becca asked softly as she settled into the seat beside him.

“Yeah,” he said automatically, though he then added, “I just, uh, I think I’ve got a migraine coming on.”

“Shit, Bucky. I’m sorry if all of this had any hand in that.”

“Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. I didn’t get much sleep last night and, uh, I can’t lie, the train was a little stressful. I’ll be fine.” When she didn’t look convinced, he added, “They’ve gotten a lot better, Bec. Seriously. This one was probably waiting and biding it’s time. It’s been a couple weeks since my last one.”

He offered her a smile as he shifted around in his bag until his fingers closed around the various bottles he’d brought along with him. Despite the fact that he was taking substantially less medications on a regular basis than he had a few months ago, he knew that the moment he didn’t bring something with him was the exact moment he’d need it.

“Besides,” he continued. “I’m catching it early. Maybe it won’t even last that long.”

He swallowed down the pills with a sip of water and then leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. He heard Becca softly explaining to their father that Bucky wasn’t feeling well and was grateful that both of them seemed willing to leave him alone for the time being while he waited for the meds to take effect. Closing his eyes helped a bit, enough for the moment, although he was already longing for the blackout curtains he hoped were still in his bedroom at home. 

He did his best to focus on the conversation between Becca and their father as they drove home. That was easier than dealing with the stop and start traffic that did absolutely nothing for his dizziness or the nausea that was creeping in. Plus, keeping his attention on that helped to keep him awake since the last thing he wanted to do was pass out in the back of his father’s car because his medication made him far too drowsy and out of it. 

Despite his efforts, he must have lost time somewhere along the way because suddenly the car wasn’t moving and Becca was lightly shaking his shoulder and saying his name. He forced his eyes open, wincing in response to the light, and stumbled out of the car and to his feet. The movement made his stomach lurch and despite his best efforts or how humiliated he felt, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing up the thankfully meager contents of his stomach all over the curb. 

A small hand lightly rubbed his back and pulled his hair back from his face. He was disoriented enough to think that it was Natasha until Becca softly said, “Easy, it’s okay, Bucky.” 

When he was reasonably certain that he wasn’t going to throw up again, he slowly straightened up. It occurred to him that he’d left his bag in the backseat and he made an attempt to go back for it, only for Becca to gently inform him that she was already carrying it. 

He managed to make his way up the stairs to the house without falling on his face and was met by his mother at the door. Running completely on autopilot, he said hello and hoped against hope that there wasn’t vomit all over his face. He managed to hug her without falling over and was trying to figure out how to actually manage complete words and sentences when Becca just tugged him towards the stairs, assuring Bucky that their father was more than capable of letting their mother know what was going on. 

Too tired to protest, Bucky let Becca drag him upstairs and into the bathroom. He considered whether he was about to get sick again, determined that he wasn’t, but took a moment to splash water on his face and rinse out his mouth. From there, Becca brought him down the hall, to his bedroom. Through his hazy vision, he registered that everything – at least what he’d left when he moved – was in the same place it had been the last time he’d been in here. Including the blackout curtains, which Becca tugged closed as Bucky pretty much fell onto his bed and managed to kick his shoes off before slipping under the covers. 

Becca paused long enough to tell him to get some sleep and that she’d see him later. Then, she leaned down to hug him carefully and murmured, “It’s good to have you back” before straightening up and heading for the door.

While this definitely wasn’t how Bucky would have wanted to make his triumphant return to his parents’ house, he realized as he started to drift off that he was glad to be back. Everything felt familiar and comfortable; in a way it hadn’t during the few months between when he’d been discharged from the hospital and when he’d moved to DC. Then he still felt like a stranger, an intruder, in the house. 

Now he felt as though he belonged. 

-~-

By the time Tony’s alarm went off at 10:00 AM, he was already sitting in the kitchen with his second or third cup of coffee in hand. Despite his best efforts and intention to sleep in following the party the previous evening, he’d been tossing and turning since dawn. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol this time given that with Pepper there, he’d been significantly better at controlling his intake than usual. 

No, this time he couldn’t stop Steve’s words from bouncing around inside his head. He’d always assumed that if he were to swallow his pride and apologize to Steve, everything would be smoothed over. After all, it had been so long, at least a year, since any of that happened. Certainly Steve should have already gotten over it by this point. An apology was practically overkill.

Still, Steve didn’t seem to think that Tony was taking accountability and that just wasn’t true. He knew what he’d done was wrong. There was a reason he didn’t sleep with people more than once. A one-night stand ran the risk of creating too much attachment; each additional night multiplied that exponentially. He still couldn’t understand why he’d slept with Steve all of those times or why he’d let it continue over a period of months but when he’d realized what he’d been doing, he’d cut things off completely. Maybe he hadn’t phrased things in the gentlest way possible but in his experience the nicer he was while having these types of conversations, the more his partners believed they might still have a chance with him. 

He knew that Pepper didn’t think he cared about his effect on Steve – or anyone else that he’d slept with – but that wasn’t true. The thought of hurting Steve, as he apparently had, bothered him frequently, which was why he’d ended things when he did. If he’d let things continue on, he would have just hurt Steve more in the long run. Really, he’d been doing Steve a favor to end things when he did.

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of high heels clacking against the floor and cluing him into the fact that it was Pepper. Not that there was many people who had unrestricted access to his place of residence and work. If it weren’t her, there was only maybe one or two other options and neither of those individuals were known for wearing high heels.

She seemed relieved to see him when she entered the kitchen or maybe that was just relief because there wasn’t a bottle of whiskey or a beer in his hand. 

“Good morning, Tony,” she said briskly. 

“Morning, Pepper. To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you’d already be on your way home.” 

“My flight’s not for a few more hours,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee before sitting down across from him. “I thought I’d check on you first though.” 

“Why?” he asked, taking a long sip of coffee. “I’m fine. Just gearing up to get some serious work done while you’re gone. I figured you’d appreciate that.”

“You know that’s not all I care about,” Pepper said and her voice softened. “I know the holidays are rough for you, Tony.”

He felt himself instinctively stiffen in response to that and tried to keep his tone from getting overly defensive. “I won’t self-destruct, Pepper. Trust me, I learned my lesson over Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t want you to hold it together because you don’t want to disappoint me, Tony,” she said, the familiar frustration back this time. “I worry about you. I want you to be okay because you’re actually okay.” 

“Who says I’m not?” he said, waving off her concern. “Look, plenty of people get depressed around the holidays. I can send you ten studies that cover that. That doesn’t mean that I’m a danger to myself or at heightened risk.”

She studied him with an intentness that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll be calling to check up on you every day until I’m back.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m a grown man. I can handle myself for the two weeks you’re gone. Besides, I have JARVIS. He keeps an eye on me.” 

“JARVIS is a machine,” she responded and for a moment, just a moment, Tony saw red.

“He is more than a machine,” he snapped and found that without meaning to, he’d gotten to his feet and was now glaring down at Pepper. “Don’t talk about him like he means nothing.”

The fact that she looked rather concerned by his response only increased his anger, although all she said was, “I’m sorry, Tony. I wasn’t saying that. I know he means a lot to you.” 

“He does,” Tony said firmly. “He’s been with me for longer than anyone else. He keeps me on track.” 

He prepared to defend himself against the inevitable argument against that statement, given how many times he’d fallen severely off track – not to mention off the wagon – over the years. To her credit though, Pepper just accepted that statement.

“And I’m glad you have him. But that’s not going to change my mind about calling you every day. Especially since going into next year, there are a lot of new proposals coming your way, as well as speaking engagement requests and things like that. I need to make sure that you’re managing all of that without me here, in addition to working on those new prototypes.” 

“That’s why God created alcohol and caffeine,” Tony said with a shrug, reclaiming his seat. “Don’t worry so much. I promise that you’ll come back and all of those proposals will be reviewed and ready to go. The new prototypes will be well under way. I’ll be considering the various requests to play guest speaker. I’ll even start figuring out where I’ll be donating the majority of my money this year.” 

Pepper studied him for longer than felt remotely comfortable. “Promise to moderate your intake of both of those substances and I’ll consider myself placated. I don’t need to worry about getting you placed in a substance abuse treatment program or having a heart attack from drinking too much coffee.”

“One, there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that I have any heart problems,” Tony countered. “Two, I’ve already assured you that you don’t have to worry. I won’t do anything stupid.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Pepper said, getting to her feet. “Please take care of yourself until I come back.”

Tony nodded in response and then turned his attention to finishing his coffee. He waited until Pepper was walking towards the door to speak again.

“Thanks, by the way.” When Pepper glanced back at him, looking confused and uncertain, he half-shrugged as though it was nothing. “For coming with me last night. I appreciated it and it… it did help.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said softly. “I actually had a pretty good time with you.”

“All of the ladies say that,” he said, unable to help his smirk of amusement when Pepper gave him a disgusted look in response. “Seriously though, I appreciated it. Keep an eye out for a Christmas bonus coming your way.”

“That’s much appreciated, Mr. Stark. Check your lab for a present of your own.”

With that, she strode out of the room before Tony could question when exactly she’d broken into his lab and for what purpose and ascertain that she hadn’t moved anything or caused any other potential damage. He didn’t mind too much, if he were to be honest. Pepper was the one person he trusted to go in and out of his lab without him there, although he would have appreciated her talking to him first.

For a moment, he contemplated heading down to see what she’d left there and getting a head start on work for the day. Instead, he poured himself another cup of coffee and scrolled aimlessly through the contacts in his cell phone. For a moment, he hesitated, remaining on one name for a long moment before clicking “call” and lifting the phone to his ear.

It wasn’t Christmas yet, after all. He might have to be alone for the holidays but that didn’t mean he needed to spend the next 24 hours on his own.

-~-

“James, I’ve been meaning to ask, what have you done to your hair?” 

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, as though it might have changed over the course of the past 24 hours, and offered his mother a bright smile and said, “Nat dyed it for me.”

Technically speaking, Steve and Darcy had dyed it the past few times he’d had the colors touched up but it was a lot more fun to pin it on Natasha, who had been responsible for the first round of color.

“I like it,” Becca said with a sly grin. “I was thinking of doing the same to mine.” 

There was a chorus from both his younger brother and youngest sister, providing their agreement as to how awesome his hair looked and how much like they would like to follow in his footsteps.

“Sorry, Mom,” Bucky said, trying to hide his amusement. “I guess I’m not the best role model here, corrupting all of my siblings.”

“Technically speaking, if hair dye is the most corruption you’re bringing, I think you’re actually providing a pretty good role model,” his father said diplomatically. 

Bucky looked pleased. “Thanks, dad.” 

His mother sighed heavily, in what Bucky was pretty sure was only mock frustration, and said, “I wasn’t only commenting on the color. It seems to me that you’ve forgotten what scissors look like as well. When was the last time you had it cut?”

“I think one of my coworkers attacked it with scissors a couple months back,” Bucky said with a grin and a shrug. 

His mother sighed once more, although she offered him an exasperated smile. He leaned back in his chair, amazed by how different everything felt. The last time he’d been home, everyone had constantly been walking on eggshells around him, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. His mother definitely wouldn’t have commented on his appearance and, if she had, he would have gotten defensive and angry. Now the atmosphere was relaxed in a way that it hadn’t been since before he shipped out the first time. Even the previous evening, which could have – and at one time would have – qualified as a disaster because of his migraine hadn’t been that bad. While he would have admittedly liked to have a better homecoming, he’d done what he needed to take care of himself and it had worked. 

Becca and his mother had checked on him a few times and, in his mother’s case, offered him a late dinner but with his stomach still unsettled, he’d only accepted ginger ale before going back to bed. On one of those occasions, he’d managed to stay awake and focused long enough to send Steve a text message to let him know he’d made it back to New York in one piece. He tried to say more but the glare on the screen and focusing on the letters was more than his eyes could handle, so he’d left it mostly at that and then proceeded to sleep through Steve’s text messages back, which he hadn’t seen until he woke up, disoriented and confused, this morning.

It had taken him several minutes to orient himself and figure out where he was. The room still felt familiar enough that he didn’t panic the way he might have in an unknown location but without Steve or Natasha he felt a bit lost. Logically speaking, that didn’t make sense given that there were plenty of days when he woke up at the apartment or townhouse and was alone in bed. Still, his mind registered that he was in a new location, the same way that a hotel room will feel strange the first night, and without those familiar signals to provide guidance, he found himself initially confused. 

Then his eyes fell on the posters and his various sports related trophies and the stupid looking bear Natasha had won for him at a fair when they were sixteen. With all of those cues, he pieced together that he was at his parents’ house, in a room that somehow had avoided being taken over by one of his siblings during his absence. He’d felt the slightest pang upon realizing that he’d fallen asleep and woken up without Steve beside him and would continue doing so for close to a week but then he pulled himself together and reminded himself that it was _only_ a week.

A shower later and he’d felt human and functional enough to join his family for breakfast. All of his siblings were thrilled to see him, his parents seemed relieved to see that his migraine of the previous day was over and done with, and Bucky slipped into the routine without much difficulty. He did notice though that both his mother and father kept checking their watches and clocks, which was strange since as far as he knew, there was nothing planned for the day. 

That wasn’t as surprising as the knock on the door that came as he was finishing the last of his coffee or the fact that his parents exchanged a look before his dad casually suggested, “Why don’t you get that, James?” 

At that, he felt the slightest hint of trepidation. For all of his strides forward, he still didn’t cope particularly well with surprises. Still, he gave them each a quizzical look before rising to his feet and heading for the door. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him on the other side. Sam stood there, a big smile on his face, and Bucky struggled to piece together how this latest development fit in with his mental image and understanding of his current location. It wasn’t as though Sam had never visited him here; particularly early on, he was there at least twice a month, often combining the trip with Natasha after they met while Bucky was still in the hospital. But Sam lived in DC and Bucky had just left him there the previous day. Sam standing at his door made absolutely no sense.

“I know you hate surprises but, well, surprise,” Sam said, his grin widening, if anything.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself, and then glanced guiltily over his shoulder to see if his parents and/or siblings had heard his colorful choice of language.

Given that they were all standing right behind him, they had, and his mother gave him a look that said that he should be mindful of his siblings’ presence.

“I mean, not that I’m not glad to see you,” he added quickly. “I just didn’t expect it. You were in DC when I left yesterday.”

“I was in DC until this morning. Sorry that we didn’t give you a heads up but me and Nat have been working with your family on this surprise for the past year, almost. You feeling up for a little outing?”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“I suppose I can tell you that much,” Sam said. “Last year, I was talking to some of my buddies at the VA and looking at some of the latest research and to make a long story short and bring us up to the present, we’re going to get you a service dog. I have an appointment set up for you.” 

Bucky’s initial response to that declaration was to stare uncomprehendingly at Sam for a long moment before repeating, “Service dog?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and this time he sounded a bit hesitant. “I mean, I know you don’t love cats but you and Lucky always seemed to get along really well. These dogs are trained specifically to help vets with PTSD and TBI and plenty of other conditions too, of course, and they can do tons of stuff. They can sense when a panic attack or flashback is coming on, they can ground you, they can even bring your meds to you if you’re getting hit with a migraine. I’ve also been talking to Steve for about the past month, just to make sure everyone was cool with a dog being added to the family, and everyone is 100% on board.”

“All of you have been keeping this a secret for this entire time?” Bucky asked, a bit incredulously. “How did you manage that?”

“With very good planning and a lot of luck,” Sam said, chuckling. “Look, I also want to make sure that you know that we all recognize how much progress you’ve made, Buck. This isn’t because we think you’re struggling or a lost cause, this is because we think it’ll give you more freedom and help you to feel and be more comfortable doing things on your own.”

Bucky had to admit that there had been a part of him that was questioning whether everyone believed he was struggling and needed the additional support, so hearing Sam say that was a definite relief. While he hadn’t thought much about a service dog, he certainly could see the benefit to having one. While his panic attacks and flashbacks occurred much less frequently than they used to, they still hit unexpectedly and sometimes before he could attempt to ground himself. If a dog could recognize that before it happened or at least help pull him out of a flashback that would help. Plus, thinking ahead, he could also imagine that if he’d had a service dog with him the previous day at Penn Station, he might have found himself able to maintain his composure a bit more. 

Realizing that he’d probably been silent a bit too long, he offered Sam a smile and then a hug. “Thank you. Seriously. I never would have expected this and the fact that all of you guys worked together to make this happen is incredible.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get mushy on me, Barnes,” Sam cautioned. “At least not until you meet your new best friend.”

“Could I come along?” Becca asked hopefully, which naturally was followed by the rest of his siblings clamoring for the same thing. 

“Sadly, since we need enough room in the backseat to bring your brother’s new friend home with us, I think you’ll have to wait until we get back,” Sam said, easily navigating the situation. “But I can promise you’ll have an excellent introduction then.” 

“In that case, I’ll throw on my shoes and we can go,” Bucky said.

On the way up the stairs, he reflected on the fact that the next time he entered his room, he’d have a dog with him. While the idea felt a bit strange, he was already warming to it. After all, hadn’t he woken up alone, feeling uneasy and strange? A service dog would mean that would never be a concern. Even if Steve wasn’t around, the dog would be there and that would definitely be helpful. How many times had he wished Steve was around after a migraine hit and he couldn’t drag himself from the bathroom, back to bed where he could reach his medication on the nightstand? How many times had he gotten triggered and coping with a flashback or dissociating – or often some combination thereof – where it would have been wonderful to have someone to ground him and calm him down?

Plus, Sam was right. Despite the strides Bucky had made, he was still pretty dependent on others. He could manage going to a new place, which was a definite improvement, but he knew that he’d be unlikely to go to an unfamiliar place if it meant doing it alone. With Steve or Nat or Sam by his side, he was fine. When he was alone, he was pretty much restricted to familiar locations only. With a service dog though, maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to move around DC more freely. After all, all of his fears about having a flashback or dissociating in public could be countered by having a dog with him who could ground him. For all he knew, the dog might even be able to help him get home if he dissociated or got hit with a migraine. 

By the time he headed back down the stairs – bounding down them, if he were to be honest – he no longer cared that he’d been surprised by Sam’s appearance and was eager to get in the car and see what this next step would look like for him.

-~-

The picture downloaded to Steve’s phone in the afternoon while he was in the middle of a session. He heard his phone chime, recognized that the tone signaled that it was a picture, and immediately knew what was waiting for him. Still, he maintained his attention on the task at hand; he probably should have left his phone on silent to prevent the temptation of looking. 

Once he’d finished tapping the bandages into place over the latest piece of body art on his client, delivered all of the instructions regarding aftercare, and cleaned up his station, he went straight for his phone. As he’d expected, the message was from Bucky and upon opening it, he found a short text message along with a picture that was presumably taken in Bucky’s bedroom. In the picture, Bucky was seated on the edge of the bed, a golden retriever sitting at his feet, his metal hand resting on top of its head. 

The text message itself clarified the dog’s gender. _Meet the newest member of our family. His name is Winter. There’s a story behind that. Too much to type. We get along real well though._

Steve couldn’t help but smile as he saw how Bucky’s face was lit up. He typed back, _Looks like a troublemaker. Can’t wait to meet him._

Bucky sent back, _Definitely a troublemaker. Reminds me of you. He’s looking forward to meeting you next week. Might have trouble convincing him to give up his side of the bed. He’s already pretty attached._

Before Steve had the chance to respond, another message came in. _You free to chat?_

Steve responded to that by dialing Bucky’s number and a moment later Bucky was on the other end of the line, breathlessly explaining the events of his day to Steve. 

“You’ll love Winter. Apparently as a puppy, they wanted to call him Sunny but every time they tried to give him a command, he did the opposite of what he was supposed to do, and so they decided to call him Winter instead. Obviously he grew out of that, since he couldn’t have been a service dog if he didn’t listen to commands, but the name stuck. He’s seriously amazing. They had a couple of dogs for me to try out and I had to give them commands and shit and all of them were well behaved and responded well but I could tell we didn’t click and so did their handler. With Winter though, it was like love at first sight. It just felt right, not forced, and after a couple of minutes I even forgot that I had an audience watching us.”

“He sounds great,” Steve said with a grin.

“Sam already loves him too. So does my family. Also, I can’t believe you guys hid this from me for so long.” Bucky’s words came in a rush and Steve was pretty sure he’d never heard him sound quite this animated and excited. 

“It was pretty hard to keep it all hush-hush,” Steve admitted. “Sam came to me a couple weeks back, just to make sure I’d be willing to have a dog stay in the apartment. I said yes, of course. It wouldn’t be the first time there was a service dog in Shield and I wasn’t about to stand in the way of anything that would help you.”

“I think it really is gonna help a lot. I can’t lie, I’d been starting to worry about getting you from Penn Station but with Winter coming along too, I can already tell that it’ll be something I can manage. One of the things he can do is pretty much clear a path for me, to help me better manage crowds. I already feel a lot calmer having him here, even if Sam insists that’s because just petting a dog has all sorts of relaxing and otherwise beneficial qualities.”

“Which is good too.” Steve paused for a moment before adding, “I’m looking forward to meeting him, and seeing you in just a couple of days.” 

“I know, it’s been weird without you here,” Bucky said softly.

Steve felt more relieved than he probably should have upon hearing that Bucky felt the same way about their separation as he did. Not hearing much from Bucky the previous evening felt strange, though at the time he’d assumed that Bucky was busy spending time with his family. Once Bucky texted him that morning, he’d found out that he’d been wrong about that theory and that Bucky had gone down with a migraine for about twelve hours. Hearing that eased the knots of worry that had formed in his stomach from some kind of nameless dread that he didn’t want to consider for too long out of the fear that he might find a name for it. 

“It’s weird without you here too,” Steve said, after realizing he’d been quiet for longer than was probably acceptable in a conversation with his boyfriend.

“I’ll bet. At least here, I don’t have the expectation of having you around since you haven’t visited yet. I don’t even know how I’d feel if I were staying in the apartment without you there. It would seem surreal and not right.”

“It’s only a few more days though,” Steve said quickly, admittedly more for his benefit than for Bucky’s. “Tomorrow I’ll be going to see my mom and I’ll be staying with her through Christmas and then going to see you just a few short days afterwards.”

“I promise I’ll be better at texting during that time,” Bucky promised him. Steve heard him sigh before adding, “I should probably go though. I left Sam downstairs with my parents and siblings and I have no idea what horrible things they’re doing to him. My parents insisted that he stay for dinner and, apparently, for the night since his train doesn’t leave until tomorrow. He agreed, so I should probably rescue him before he’s pressed into helping with the dinner prep.” 

“Heard loud and clear,” Steve said. “Say hello to him and your parents and give Winter a treat for me. I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Love you,” Bucky said, and Steve could hear the grin in his voice as he said those words.

“I love you too,” Steve said before reluctantly saying his goodbyes and hanging up.

It felt strange to have that be the extent of his contact and communication with Bucky for the day. Then again, though, as Steve glanced at the calendar on his desk, he was reminded of the appointments he had scheduled to keep him occupied for the rest of the day. Plus, he needed to send out a report to Stark to give him the breakdown of the expenses and income for the past month. He knew he’d been derelict in doing that the past couple of months. The least he could do was spend the night reviewing the books and giving Stark an end of the year report.

Once upon a time, that might have brought on some anxiety, given that he lost several staff members over the course the year and the shop would be lucky to break even. Now though, he knew that if the books showed that the money wasn’t coming in, Tony wasn’t about to take the shop away from him. Now that Bucky was coming back and Clint might be able to return after the holidays as well, next year would definitely be better, at least financially.

As far as Steve was concerned, even with the ups and downs of the past couple of months, this had been the best year he could have asked for.

-~-

Clint stared at the phone in his hand as though it were a snake and likely to sink its fangs into his skin and inject his body with venom. While he logically knew that was scientifically impossible, it didn’t lower his level of anxiety. This phone felt dangerous in his hand, with all of its theoretically anonymous glory. He could always throw it down the sewer after using it, never to receive a call from it again. 

Assuming, of course, that he didn’t allow himself to get sucked right back into his brother’s bullshit. But Natasha promised that wouldn’t happen and he trusted her.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed the number, then hit call, then hit end before the phone had the chance to ring once. He’d been playing the same game for the past twenty minutes, convincing himself to press his fingers to the keypad, to hit that tiny phone icon, and then end the call before there was a chance of it happening. 

This was, admittedly, about on par with what he’d expected. 

He was grateful for having the time to himself to go through this process without interruption. Natasha was downstairs, on the phone with Bucky and Sam, and getting to hear all about Bucky’s service dog. The twins had retreated to their bedroom for the night, as they often did. Clint had taken that opportunity to head upstairs, where he’d have the privacy he needed to call his brother but, thus far, had not made any significant progress in that venture.

He dialed the number again, at least to say he’d tried because at some point he had no doubt he would need to argue that he’d made an effort – and this had definitely been a valiant effort, as far as he’d been concerned. If he told Natasha he’d been unable to make the call and then showed how many times he’d called his brother, only to hang up, she couldn’t fault him for that, right?

A door opened in the hall and he froze, his mind somehow determining that meant that someone – either Natasha or the twins – was about to come in and catch him in the act. Of what? Of calling his brother? That wasn’t like committing a robbery or anything. There was nothing to catch him in.

That was when Clint became uncomfortably aware of the fact that this time, unlike the previous times, there was a voice on the other end of the line rather than silence. Even more awkward was the fact that this voice went from saying, “Hello?” several times to saying, “Clint? Is that you?”

He could have hung up right there. He knew that. He could go through his original plan to get rid of the phone right this second and smash it under his foot before his brother could even call back – true, that might have been difficult with one foot still in a walking cast, but he could manage. He could do all of that and no one would be the wiser.

Instead, he found himself saying, “Yeah, Barney, it’s me.” 

“Holy shit,” his brother blurted out. “I didn’t expect you’d really call. I mean, I’d hoped, but I hadn’t let myself hope that much because I doubted it would happen.” 

“Yeah, well, it has,” Clint said dryly. “I guess this is one of the perfect times to use the phrase, long time, no talk.” 

“It has been,” Barney agreed, without a trace of sarcasm. “How’ve you been?… I mean, aside from the whole getting shot thing.” 

“Oh, aside from that, I’ve been great,” Clint said. “Perfectly fine. An upstanding citizen. Just your average college student.” 

Barney seemed to miss the level of sarcasm in his voice given that he said, “College, huh? I mean, I gathered that from the news stories but I have to say I’m impressed. Good for you, kid. I always knew you were smart.”

There were quite a few biting comments that came to Clint’s mind in response to that but he swallowed them back.

Instead, he settled on, “How about you?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Barney hedged. “I’ve been doing stuff…” 

“Legal or less so?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” Barney admitted. “It all depends on the month or the week or the day, really. But you, I mean, being in college and all of that. That’s amazing. It shows just how far you’ve come.” 

Clint fought the urge to say, “Not that far.” On the one hand, he felt a little two-faced for making his brother think that he was doing so much better than he actually was – you definitely didn’t get noticed by the Russian mob for being a saint – but on the other, there was something nice about hearing his brother sound that impressed. 

Before he could consider what to say next, his brother asked, “What are you studying?” and he found himself in much more comfortable territory. 

“Communication and pretty much everything that involves. I’ve been in school for the past couple years. I got some help from my, uh, mentor in terms of getting in and getting set. I started out with a less than full-time schedule, so it’ll still be a couple years before I graduate but… but yeah. I’ll graduate sooner or later and then I guess I’ll figure out where to go from there.” 

“It sounds like you’ve really got your life straightened out, kid. I’m glad to hear that.” 

Convention of conversation made Clint consider asking after Barney again, to see if his brother might be more forthcoming about what had been going on with him these past several years. Then he reconsidered, determining that he’d probably rather not know because knowing might make him more likely to make poor life decisions like trying to help his brother – assuming, of course, that Barney needed his help. 

He stayed away from that thought and instead asked, “New York’s pretty far from our hometown. What brought you there?” 

He tried not to think about how close New York was to DC or the fact that as he spoke, Bucky and Sam were in New York, potentially mere miles away from his brother at this time. True, Clint knew how large New York was and how unlikely it would be for that to occur but still, his mind seemed determined to go in those directions. 

“A job,” Barney said succinctly. “I’ve been here for a couple of weeks, I’ll probably stay here for a couple longer. Then I’ll see where life takes me.” 

“Sounds like things are pretty much the same for you as they were the last time we saw one another,” Clint said, before he could stop himself or lessen the bite in those words. 

He expected Barney to respond with more defensiveness but instead all he said was, “Yeah, I guess I am.” Then he cleared his throat. “You know, New York isn’t that far from DC. I thought it might be nice for the two of us to see one another, just for old time’s sake. We could meet somewhere public, like a coffee shop – you still like coffee, right? We could just catch up with one another. You could tell me more about how school is going, I could talk a bit more about what I’ve been up to, and we could see if maybe, just maybe, there might be a way to repair things between us.”

The range of emotions that surged through Clint in response– rage, sadness, disappointment, regret, and the tiniest bit of hope – made it hard for him to formulate any words of his own. On the one hand, he felt as though this conversation was going exactly where he’d expected – Barney would ask to me, inevitably find a way to drag Clint down on his sinking ship, and life would get that much more fucked up – but on the other, there was still that part of him that hoped his brother was being genuine. That hoped that Barney wanted to see him to make amends and fix things instead of causing more wounds. 

He managed to dampen his emotions enough to choose a more rationale answer than jumping to either one of those extremes.

“I can’t make any promises on that right now, Barney. Let’s start things slow. We’re talking on the phone now and that’s a good first step. Give me a couple of days to think on whether or not I want this to go further.” 

“Fair enough,” Barney said, but Clint could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I guess I’ll let you go. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, if I don’t talk to you before then.” 

“Thanks, same to you,” Clint returned, then somewhat hesitantly added, “Look, this won’t be the last time you hear from me. Even if I decide that us seeing each other in person isn’t a good idea, I’ll call you and let you know. It… it really was good hearing from you.” 

“It was good hearing from you too, Clint,” Barney said softly. “I look forward to our next talk.”

And just like that, the phone clicked and went silent and the call ended. Clint stared down, almost uncomprehendingly, at the phone, noting the number of minutes he’d spent talking to his brother flashing at the top, the only proof that that had just happened. It didn’t feel real. Not after that many years. He gingerly placed the phone on the nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He told himself that his legs were shaking because he’d been up and on his still healing ankle for too long but he was pretty sure that was only a fraction of the reason. 

When there was a light knock on the door a few minutes later, followed by Natasha gently asking if she could come in, he was still sitting in the same place, face buried in his hands, trying to stop his entire body from shaking. He must have said yes, otherwise he knew she wouldn’t have come in, and a moment later she was beside him, lightly rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other coming to rest on his knee. She didn’t press him to speak, which he was ridiculously grateful for, and instead just sat there with him, waiting for him to calm down. Soon enough, the shaking lessened, and he found that while he probably could have formed words, he really didn’t want to, at least not if it meant talking about what had happened.

Still, the silence became uncomfortable soon enough and he finally asked, “How’s Barnes doing?”

“He’s good,” Natasha murmured. “Sam’s still with him, he’ll be back tomorrow. But the two of them found a service dog well suited for James. His name’s Winter and I’m guessing you’ll be seeing a fair amount of him at Shield in the coming months.”

“Sounds like a success story,” Clint said with a faint chuckle – and why was he laughing, there was no reason to laugh. “That’s good. That’s really good. I’m glad it all worked out.” 

“I am as well. Which is why I’m not worried about him right now but I am worried about you. What do you need?”

He contemplated telling her that he was fine and didn’t need anything but that would have been such a blatant lie that he didn’t see the point. Instead, he considered her question. There were a lot of things that came to mind: alcohol, the last of the painkillers he’d held onto to help out after physical therapy, and those were just for starters. Those weren’t going to do anything helpful though. If he got drunk, he’d wake up with a hangover. If he took the pills, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d just self-destruct that much more and his conversation with Barney, which hadn’t been that bad if he were to compare it to previous ones, would take on that much more of an edge in his mind. It would be something to be feared, not tolerated. 

“What you’re doing right now is good,” he said honestly. “More of that, maybe tossing a movie on TV for distraction, and I think I’d be good.” 

“That I can do.” She studied him with an uncomfortable level of scrutiny before leaning in to kiss him. 

The kiss was slow and gentle, not the usual mouth-crushing, near desperate ones that they often seemed to trade, and somehow it was utterly perfect for this moment. He appreciated the feeling of her lips against his own, her fingers tangled in his hair, and the last of the knot of tension still lingering in his chest dissipated. For someone who could be as dangerous as her, she’d always made him feel safe; perhaps because he knew that while others should probably fear her, she’d never do anything to hurt him.

Naturally, his brain decided to take that moment to reflect on his near break-up with her and how he could have lost her so easily because of his own stupidity. He responded to that thought by silently telling his brain to shut up and focused after last bit of attention on their current activities. Soon enough, everything else melted away and there was nothing except her.


	38. All Is Calm, All Is Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone celebrates Christmas Eve a little bit differently: Tony and Natasha both have surprise visitors to their evenings, Steve struggles to make a decision about the rest of his holiday plans, and Bucky has a difficult conversation with his sister.
> 
> Trigger warning for discussion of suicide in this chapter.

Natasha awoke on Christmas Eve with her stomach in knots, a bad taste in her mouth, and an impending sense of doom wholly unwarranted for the holiday season. Clint lay beside her, his head on her shoulder, one leg thrown over hers. He breathed in and out, slowly and evenly. Despite how grateful she was to see him sleeping soundly, that did little to make her feel better. With Sam still out of town, the bed felt strangely empty, in spite of the bodies – and Lucky - filling it, especially when she factored in not seeing Sam again until after the holidays. She understood, of course, and didn’t begrudge him his plans. Spending the holiday with his family was important to him. She wouldn’t have wanted him anywhere else. That wasn’t the problem so much as the faint sense of unease stemming from the fact that while he was spending his time with his family, she, well, wasn’t. 

This would be the first Christmas since she was adopted as a child that she wouldn’t be spending with her father. Even last year, when she’d been traveling to and from New York on an almost daily basis to take care of Bucky, she’d set aside Christmas Eve to spend with him and managed to spend most of Christmas morning there as well. To not spend the holiday with him this year because the two of them were fighting was almost more than she could handle.

Still, no matter how awful she felt, she wasn’t willing to compromise. The two of them had talked, albeit briefly. When she made it clear she was still with Clint and he made it clear Clint wasn’t welcome at Christmas Eve dinner or anywhere else, she’d politely informed her father that if Clint wasn’t permitted, she wouldn’t be there either. She’d hung up immediately afterwards, unwilling to hear how her father would respond, and particularly afraid of whether his voice would have betrayed any emotion. 

She hadn’t quite determined whether she was more afraid of hearing the emotion or hearing no emotion. The fact that she’d hung up on him without waiting still haunted her to a degree. She couldn’t remember the last time – if there had been a last time – that she’d done something like that. Abandoned calls and slammed doors had never been a thing in their house. The amount of conflict within their relationship, if any, had been minimal. He’d always approved of her boyfriends before. Even Bucky with his tattoos and piercings and habit of smoking had never caused friction. The situation with Clint was different and far more dangerous. Still, Natasha couldn’t quite stomach the idea that her father was trying to make her choices for her. That might have been acceptable when she was a teenager, though he’d never done it then, but now that she was an adult she wasn’t willing to accept that from him.

She threaded her fingers through Clint’s hair and tried to shut her mind off, though that did little. Part of her felt almost resentful for ending up in this position where she had to choose between the man who’d pretty much saved her life and raised her as his own, no questions asked, and her boyfriend, who might have been a fuck-up but she loved him. After all, he wasn’t the one who asked her to choose. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want her to be in that position. Her father, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

Probably because he’d expected she would choose him. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t get it. Her father had spent pretty much her entire life doing his best to keep her safe. Since getting involved with Clint, she’d been placed in harm’s way, divulged her secret to multiple people, including the ones she’d been being protected from, and was likely to be in more danger the longer she stayed with him. The Russians weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, as far as she could tell.

But all of that was her choice. Clint hadn’t forced her into any of it and she didn’t blame him, at least not the way her father did. She wished she’d known more sooner but that was about all she could fault him for, save for getting himself involved in this entire mess to begin with. He still hadn’t told her exactly how he’d gotten onto the Russians’ radar, though he hadn’t been too inclined to interrogate him over it. From the hints she’d gotten, she was reasonably certain that it might have involved Lucky but the fine details continued to elude her. 

None of that was what she wanted to be ruminating on. It was Christmas Eve and she was determined to enjoy herself as much as she could. There was Christmas Eve dinner to be made, there were presents to finish wrapping, and she’d promised to check on Bucky. Natasha was pretty sure he didn’t need anyone checking in on him. He was much more stable than last year. Besides, he had his family with him – not to mention his service dog - and, at least this morning, Sam had been there too.

Still, old habits died hard, especially when she remembered what he’d gone through one year ago at this time. 

Clint murmured incomprehensibly. Natasha gently shushed him and brushed a kiss against his forehead before sliding out of bed and slipping on a robe. Clint responded with a tired grumble, promptly rolled onto her side of the bed, hugged her pillow to his chest, and immediately went back to sleep, judging by the fact that he immediately started to snore. Lucky raised her head and looked to Natasha. Natasha raised her finger to her lips, as though that might convince Lucky to remain silent and not to move. 

She left the two of them in the tangle of blankets, quietly closing the door behind her in an effort not to wake him. She already had her doubts about him staying asleep when the scent of coffee and something cooking caught her the moment the door opened. Clint was a beacon for coffee. The smell alone was all it took. She leaned against the door to listen for any signs of him stirring. She hoped not, given that it had taken her awhile to get him settled down after his conversation with his brother the previous night. A conversation that had led to yet another situation to be handled, seeing as his brother wanted to meet him. While Natasha wasn’t certain it was the best option for Clint, she also knew it was his choice. She just needed to make certain that it didn’t end with Clint in even more trouble.

Upon hearing nothing, she continued on her way down the hall and the stairs. The twins were in the kitchen, as she’d expected given the smell of food in the air, given the only other option was that some strange person had broken in and decided to cook for her. There were covered platefuls of what Natasha suspected were pancakes already on the counter and an entire pot of coffee done percolating. Wanda stood at the stove, flipping more pancakes in the pans, while Pietro perched on the counter beside the coffee, a cup in one hand and a fork in the other. The plate beside him had something that might have been a pancake once but now seemed more of a mess of whipped cream, chocolate, and cooked dough. 

“Morning,” Wanda said, glancing over her shoulder at Natasha. “I made pancakes for breakfast.”

Pietro echoed the welcoming sentiment after washing down the last mouthful of food with a sip of coffee and then added, “We’ve got apple, blueberry, and Nutella pancakes already made. I ate most of the Nutella ones, which is why Wanda’s making more. They’re fuckin’ delicious.” 

“I told him to wait for you and Clint but he’s got no self-control,” Wanda said with a sigh.

“I was hungry,” he countered. “Plus I made the first batch.” 

“That’s no excuse.” Wanda moved a pancake from the pan to the pile developing on the plate beside her. “Sharing is a virtue or something like that.”

When Pietro reached for the pancake she’d just made, she lightly swatted at his hand and then waved the spatula threateningly in his direction. 

“Wanda, c’mon.”

“No, let Natasha have some first. They’re for everyone, not just you.” 

Natasha let the two of them argue as she poured herself a cup of coffee, adding in a bit of the eggnog creamer she’d bought for the holiday season. By the time she’d taken a few sips and felt capable of conversation, Pietro had a plate of pancakes, featuring all three flavors, ready and waiting for her. 

She thanked him and added a rather belated, “Good morning” to the two of them. She managed to censor herself before she said something unfortunate like, “Merry Christmas.” While the twins had certainly warmed up to the holiday season, she knew better than to throw the holiday in their faces after what they’d been through growing up.

Instead, she focused on the plate in her hand and the fact that Pietro had apparently taken the time to shake some red and green sprinkles over the whipped cream on the pancakes. Given his distaste for the holiday, she couldn’t help but appreciate the added effort. With the first bite, the knot in her stomach slightly eased up. Things might’ve been shit with her father but that didn’t mean the entire holiday had to be a disaster. 

After all, she had Clint and their two strays to keep her company.

-~-

“Should I turn off the alarm you set six hours ago, sir?” JARVIS inquired, startling Tony from his current project. 

Tony glanced up. It was nearly noon. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t fallen asleep at any point during the past 24 hours. In his defense, it wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d spent most of the previous day with Rhodey, trying to keep his mind occupied. By the time he’d returned to the lab, there had been far too many things that needed to be accomplished that hadn’t been touched since he was out. Somehow working until three had turned into working until five and now it was well into the next day. He didn’t feel tired, but there was no doubt in his mind he needed sleep.

That, of course, didn’t mean he had any intentions of going to bed. Not yet, at least.

“Seeing as I’m not sleeping, that would be helpful, JARVIS,” he said, stifling a sigh. 

Going to bed wasn’t necessary at the moment. A pot of coffee later, maybe some Irish coffee if he felt like adding some alcohol into the mix, and he’d be good for another couple of hours. After all, it didn’t really matter if he slept well into the evening, if he were to be honest. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. Sleeping through the holiday was better than drinking excessively through the holiday. 

Although at this point he wouldn’t say no to taking some downers that might actually allow for him to sleep for a ten-hour stretch. Anything that would keep him from thinking long enough for his mind to shut off and let him sleep. Somehow, no matter what, Christmas was always the hardest, which made no sense to him given the fact that his parents – or at least his father – had been absent at best during the holidays. He didn’t have lots of happy memories of good times with his family on Christmas; if anything, the memories tended to involve his father drinking to excess, arguments erupting, and him hiding in his room to pretend that the fights between his parents weren’t actually occurring, that his father wasn’t yelling, and his mother wasn’t crying.

With happy family memories like that, he probably should’ve been grateful to spend the holiday alone. But every year, he felt his mood slip down as the Christmas decorations went up and by the time the actual holiday hit, he was usually so far into a self-destructive streak that the entire week before and after the 25th was a blacked out blur of uppers and downers and more alcohol than his liver could probably process.

This year though, probably thanks to Pepper and his accountability towards her, he wasn’t that far gone. For better or worse, given that he now had to sustain himself through the holiday completely sober and, of course, she was conspicuously absent. 

On the positive side, at least after these horrendous 48 hours were over, there was New Year’s Eve to look forward to. Pepper couldn’t be mad at him if he got shitfaced then because that was just what people did to celebrate the holiday. Besides, if he remembered her travel plans correctly, Pepper might be back in town in time to celebrate with him, assuming she didn’t have her own plans, of course. 

Even if she did, maybe he could convince her to go out with him. In the interest of keeping him stable, of course. 

On some level, he did know that was manipulative and unfair to her, but at the moment he couldn’t entirely convince himself that it was the worst idea he’d ever had. Beyond that, the fact that he was becoming this dependent on her filled him with a sliver of unease. Enough so that his mind went from fixating on how he could convince her to come out with him on New Year’s to quickly determining that he didn’t need a chaperone for the evening and that he’d have a lot more fun without her. 

Pepper was getting too close and he didn’t let people get this close to him, with very few exceptions. When people got too close, that was when things got dangerous. He had enough friends already, he could have any date he chose any night of the week, and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t need anyone else. Pepper was his personal assistant, nothing more, nothing less.

All of those uncomfortable thoughts reminded him that he hadn’t opened her present to him yet. He’d found it, sitting in the center table in his lab, and he’d done nothing more than move it off to the side so that he could work unhindered by its presence. Then, he’d done his best to avoid looking in any direction remotely close to it because when he did, his entire focus immediately got derailed, he forgot what he was doing, and more often than not, he’d had to start the process of whatever he was working on completely over. Part of him wondered whether it would make the most sense to just get it over with and unwrap the present, but the rest of him staunchly refused. 

Because of course he hadn’t opened it. You didn’t open presents until Christmas Day. You didn’t need to be a certified genius to know that. 

Then again, presents also went under the tree, not under desks, but there were no trees in the lab, so the desk had to do for now. He nudged the present more securely under there, hoping against hope that he’d have a harder time noticing it, and fully committed himself to focusing on work and nothing else. There were too many projects to work on, so many old projects he was revamping to account for changes in research and new theories as to how he could best decrease some of their limitations. After all, JARVIS had been one of his earlier projects that had never been fully represented in his public work. There was a lot of good stuff he’d developed or, at least thought about, over the years. He’d just needed the time to work on them, which was hard when he had plenty of company-based projects to complete.

Maybe these next few days would be a welcome time to actually work on his own projects and see what he could develop. Seeing Barnes’ prosthetic over the past couple of months had frustrated him each time – for the obvious, or not so obvious, reasons regarding Steve, but also because Tony remembered that Barnes’ tech lacked the neural implants connecting him more firmly, sensory speaking at least, to his prosthetic arm - and now all he could think about was which modifications could be made to ensure that not receiving the neural implants did not completely diminish meaningful sensation. With so many veterans returning with traumatic brain injury, Tony knew that Barnes couldn’t be the only one who’d been unable or unwilling to have the additional surgeries, which meant he needed to find a way around that difficulty. It didn’t matter to him that developing a prosthetic that could be used for veterans with injuries that would have rendered them unable for a prosthetic device based on severity or location was quite substantial and significant. There were always improvements to be made.

Just as he was about to pull out some of his early prototypes to get on that, JARVIS informed him, “Colonel Rhodes is on the line, sir, and apparently also standing right outside. Do you wish to take this call?” 

Tony frowned. While a call would distract him from his work, this call was somewhat unexpected given that he’d just seen Rhodey yesterday, and he was pretty sure they’d said their holiday greetings to one another then. The last thing he wanted was to ignore a call if there might be something wrong. 

“Sure, put him through,” Tony said and waited until his earpiece clicked on before saying, “Hey, Rhodey, what’s up?” 

“You sound sober,” Rhodey greeted him. “That’s a pleasant surprise.”

“The night’s still young.” 

“Tony, it’s barely noon. Have you even slept yet?” 

“I figured I’d get to it eventually.” He ignored the sigh that came in response to that statement. “What’s up?”

“It just so happens that I’m lacking in holiday plans and I figured it was a safe bet that you were too.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to sigh. “Seriously, Rhodey, did Pepper put you up to this? Don’t cancel your holiday plans for me. Spend time with your family. I’ll be fine. I won’t go off the deep end. You won’t have to bail me out of jail again. There won’t be half-naked videos of me on the internet.” 

“I was more concerned about the ones where there were no clothes on at all,” Rhodey said dryly. “Seriously, Tony, I’m not taking no for an answer. The family understands and has given their blessing. Let me in and we can watch some movies, eat some takeout, celebrate the holiday like that.”

The thought was enticing. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the holiday with someone else. Then again, he couldn’t recall the last Christmas he had any clear, coherent memories for. Still, this was above and beyond what he was okay with accepting from Rhodey. People spent Christmas with family, Rhodey had a family, therefore Rhodey should be spending the holiday with his family, not babysitting Tony Stark.

On the other hand, Rhodey was stubborn and if he said he wasn’t taking no for an answer, he’d probably stand outside in the cold, calling over and over again, and then banging on the door if Tony refused to answer. Just accepting the offer would avoid all of that hassle.

Plus, if he were to be honest with himself, the thought of having another person around on Christmas was appealing. He wouldn’t have to spend the evening – and potentially morning – by himself. He wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen when his self-control inevitably fell apart and he reached for the bottle and didn’t stop, and how disappointed Pepper would be in him if that happened. 

He exhaled slowly, then finally said, “Alright, JARVIS. Let Rhodey up.”

There were worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

-~-

As he sang along to “Silent Night,” the words automatic and stemming from years of reinforced memory, Steve found his thoughts straying and his eyes darting to where his mother stood by his side. He could hear the faint wheeze with every breath, the halting cadence as she followed the familiar words as well. The moment he’d arrived at her house a few hours ago, he’d noticed how the skin across her face seemed stretched thinner than before, the bags beneath her eyes deeper and darker, but when he’d questioned how she was feeling, she’d insisted that she was doing as well as ever.

Though he could still taste the communion wafer and mouthful of wine, Steve’s thoughts were far from the ending of the Christmas Eve mass, usually one of his favorites of the year, and had been throughout the entire service. He’d barely heard a word of the homily and every word from his own mouth, from the Prayer of the Faithful to “Our Father” had been said out of rote memory, although given his concerns about his mother, he probably should have been more focused on praying.

Instead, his thoughts were focused on Bucky and the fact that in just another couple of days, he’d be taking the train to see him. Given the condition that his mother was in and his fears that her health might be deteriorating further, the thought of leaving left him with a surprisingly high sense of dread. Despite his mother’s insistence that her condition was the same as it had been for the past several years, he couldn’t quite believe that was true. Given that she knew about his upcoming trip, he wouldn’t put it past her to lie to him, in the hopes of not worrying him more than necessary or out of the fear that much as he was considering, he might change his travel plans. 

On the one hand, Steve knew he wasn’t being entirely rational. Sarah Rogers had been sick for awhile, her diagnosis coming less than a decade after his father’s death, and several surgeries and rounds of chemo had first left her in remission for a couple of years; until that horrible day about three years back when the scans lit up like a Christmas tree once again and another round of surgery and chemo had followed. Steve, who’d been considering whether he wanted to stay local at that time, immediately, knew he had to stay put. While subsequent appointments had shown that his mother had responded positively to the treatments, he knew she hadn’t been given the all-clear. 

Still, Steve knew he couldn’t just cancel his trip on such late notice. He’d be gone for less than a week, if that, and his mom would be disappointed in him if he cancelled on her account. Bucky would be hurt as well, though Steve had no doubt he would understand. The last thing Steve wanted was to cause Bucky any pain in the midst of the holiday season. Plus, purely selfishly, he wasn’t exactly eager to cancel those plans, given that two days of having Bucky gone had already started to weigh on him. Besides, if his mother was telling the truth, what could happen during that time? If he stayed, was there really anything he could do for her, aside from making her feel guilty that he’d cancelled the trip on her account?

He felt the weight of his mother’s gaze on him and he glanced over, trying to shove the thoughts from his mind and focus on the moment at hand. Forcing a smile was hard but when his mother responded with a smile of her own, a bit of his worry eased. He was just being paranoid. Everything would be fine. He’d spend the night with his mother, celebrate Christmas in the morning, and a day later, he’d be on his way to New York to meet Bucky’s family and ring in the New Year with him. 

This was the season of miracles, after all. Everything would be fine.

-~-

The atmosphere in the townhouse wasn’t quite at the level Clint would have liked to see from the holiday season but, given everything, it was better than he would have expected. After all, the twins weren’t exactly thrilled with the Christmas holiday, though they were coping fairly well and trying to remain upbeat. Judging from the tightness he’d seen in Natasha’s jaw all day, she was struggling with the fact that she was celebrating the holiday without her father. He’d considered just offering to leave, actually had once or twice, and she’d just given him a dirty look and said that she’d made her choice. 

His own thoughts were still tangled up in his conversation with Barney the previous evening and his determination of whether or not to follow through and meet up with him in New York or somewhere in-between. He definitely didn’t feel ready to meet Barney closer to home in DC but Philly might be a good compromise, where he wouldn’t feel as though he was at the mercy of whatever had made Barney come for him now, having Barney’s presence once again overtake everything in his life, including common sense, and where he’d still feel that his own life was being held at a separate, safe distance. 

Still, he’d been doing his best to try to keep the mood in the house up all day. The four of them spent the majority of their time in the kitchen, preparing a Christmas Eve dinner, and by early afternoon, the liquor started flowing as well. Wine and spiked eggnog were the drinks of choice, with a few hot toddies thrown in there for good measure. By the time the hour of dinner approached, everyone was relaxed and joking and the mood inched closer to mellow. The twins were curled up on the couch, as per usual, enjoying a drink apiece and watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on TV, which Pietro deemed “depressing” and Wanda seemed uncertain of. Clint had made it clear he thought the fact that the two of them had never seen that movie was a travesty of the highest magnitude and kept insisting that they needed to make it to the end. 

Natasha leaned against the counter, a glass of wine in her hand, and offered him a slow, sly smile before beckoning with her finger. He obliged, stepping forward enough to let her hook her finger in his belt loop, tugging him that much closer until she could press her lips against his own. The kiss made his head spin as much as the alcohol in his system and suddenly life seemed simpler and more manageable. It was Christmas Eve, he was spending it with the woman he loved instead of alone in a dorm room, and for the moment all of the messes with the twins and their father, the Russians, and his own drama with Natasha’s father were all far from his mind. All he cared about was this moment and the upcoming festivities they would have.

All of that changed in an instant as the doorbell rang. Natasha nearly dropped her wine glass and Clint, much to his chagrin, had less luck than her, judging by the shattering of glass at his feet. He immediately looked for the twins, who appeared frozen in place, their faces showing blind panic. A thousand different options went through Clint’s head, mostly involving the Russians finally coming for him, finding him at Natasha’s, and having a Christmas Eve massacre that ended in progressively more horrible and bloody ways. The other option was almost worse, namely that Barney had managed to track down Clint here and had shown up on this holiday night.

Thankfully, Natasha regained her composure significantly faster than he did and took charge of the situation.

She looked towards the twins and calmly said, “Head up to your room and stay there until I give the all clear. Try not to move around or make any noise.”

Pietro nodded grimly and reached for Wanda’s hand and within a moment, the two of them were on their feet and hurrying towards the stairs. She waited until the door shut behind them to carefully place her glass of wine on the counter. 

“Clint, please get this glass off of the floor before Koschei or Lucky cuts open a paw. I’ll see who’s there and then we can deal with the situation accordingly.”

He stifled the urge to argue, to insist that he had to go with her in case his worst fears were realized, but instead found himself nodding his agreement and kneeling down to get the brush and dustbin out from under the sink. As he carefully swept up the glass, cursing the fact that his bullet-hole riddled arm still struggled to move, Natasha’s heels clicked out on the wooden floors as she walked to the door. From where he was in the kitchen, he caught what might have been a gasp from her – and that was enough to make him abandon his project for the moment and straighten up – followed by the door creaking open and her voice saying, “Hello, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?” and an unfortunately familiar voice replying, “It’s Christmas Eve, Natasha.”

Of all the things Clint had anticipated, Natasha’s father showing up on the holiday wasn’t one of them. Given the last interaction he’d had with her father and the repercussions that had held for Natasha’s relationship with her father, as well as her relationship with him, he quickly determined that she deserved privacy for the moment and that he would be better off finishing the job she’d left him with and letting her handle everything.

As he finished sweeping up the rest of the glass and placing it in the garbage can before any of the animals could get ahold of it, he caught bits and pieces of the conversation. From what he could tell, Natasha had let her father inside, since he’d heard the door shut but her father was still there – and, of course, that made sense, given that it was freezing outside and despite their conflict, Natasha wasn’t about to let her father stand in the cold and refuse him entry to the house. 

From Natasha, he caught, “Yes, Clint is here” followed by, “I already told you, I’m spending the holiday with him.” 

That didn’t sound good. If Natasha’s father had arrived here to convince her to abandon her plans with Clint and come with him instead, that might end in as much bloodshed as an attack by the Russians would have.

What he hadn’t expected to hear was Natasha’s father, who didn’t sound or seem angry, simply say, “I know that, Natasha.”

What surprised Clint was the fact that her father didn’t seem to be angry about this, nor was he making any arguments, such as insisting that Natasha should have still come to Christmas Eve dinner at his house, as per their usual tradition. Instead, aside from that statement, he gave her the space to continue speaking.

Finally, once Natasha finished making her position as crystal clear as possible and allowed her father a word in edgewise, Clint heard him simply say, “I know all of that, Natasha. The more I thought about the situation, the more I had to consider the fact that I’d made a mistake. It is clear to me that you care for that man and I was foolish to think that I still had to or even deserved to control your life. You’re an adult with our own decisions and it wasn’t fair for me to try to make those decisions for you. I’m not here to tell you to make different choices or to make you feel as though you have to choose between him or me. I’m here because it’s Christmas Eve and I still want to spend the holiday with you. If that means asking for your forgiveness, I am willing to do that. I’m sorry, Natasha.” 

There was a long moment of silence that left Clint worrying about how Natasha might respond to that. When she did speak, he caught the slightest quaver in her voice and that, along with her words, made him feel lower than he would have thought possible. 

“I forgive you, Dad, but I’m not the only one who deserves an apology from you.”

The thought of facing Natasha’s father, given the fact that their last conversation had occurred when he was drugged, drained, and terrified left Clint feeling as though all of the alcohol and food he’d consumed throughout the day might be in danger of coming back up. He swallowed down the lump in his throat with effort and smoothed down the creases from his t-shirt and jeans, wishing he’d worn something more befitting the occasion rather than his usual attire. Somehow facing another Russian mobster sounded easier to him than facing Natasha’s father. Unfortunately though, that wasn’t on the table.

“Understood,” her father replied. “Is now as good a time as any?”

“Only if you mean what you’re saying,” Natasha said evenly. Clearly her father must have given some sort of signal that was the case, given that a moment later she called to him, “Clint, please come out here.”

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Clint stepped out into the hallway. Her father, unlike him, was dressed in a suit ironed to military precision without a single wrinkle in the fabric. Clint forced himself to keep his head up, rather than to look down at the holes in his jeans or the flour dusting his clothes. There was no need to panic or doubt himself. Not when Natasha made it clear where her loyalties lay. That was the important part, not what her father thought of him. 

“Good evening, sir,” he said, grateful that there was no tremble in his voice to betray his emotional state. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well, Clint,” her father said. “I’ve thought a lot about our last conversation over the past couple of weeks.”

“I have as well, sir,” Clint replied, keeping his tone as respectful as possible.

More like every waking moment, but her father didn’t need to know that. 

There was a long moment of silence before her father said, “I believe I misjudged you. I said then that I did not feel you acted in the best interests of my daughter and I now recognize that blaming you for something you were not aware of at the time of your actions was not appropriate. It’s clear that Natasha is very, very fond of you and likely not without good reason. Please consider this apology from a man who jumped to a conclusion based on fear rather than logic. I should not have blamed you for what happened or the choices that Natasha made that evening. I especially should not have spoken to you like that when you were still in the hospital. I hope that we can move forward rather than dwelling on what’s happened in the past.”

Clint, for his part, had no idea how to respond to that. Having a man in such a high position of power as Natasha’s father apologize to him was moderately mind blowing and hard to wrap his head around. While he knew that a part of that apology came from the fact that he was under pressure from Natasha to do so, the fact remained that he’d just done it regardless and meant the words as much as he could.

He realized that he’d been silent for longer than was appropriate and stammered out, “Thank you, sir. I hope for that as well.”

Her father kept his gaze trained on Clint intently and before the awkwardness could increase anymore than it already had, Natasha calmly said, “Well, if that’s settled, maybe one of you could help me set the table and the other could start bringing the food out while I make certain the ham in the oven hasn’t burned yet.” 

Almost in unison, Clint and Natasha’s father said, “Yes, ma’am” and then shared a look. If Clint wasn’t mistaken, that was the hint of a smile at the corner of her father’s mouth. All he could think was that maybe this evening wouldn’t be as quite a disaster as he feared. Although as he heard the slightest creak of the floorboards overhead, he recognized that the twins wouldn’t be having the best evening themselves, locked up in their room.

One step forward, one step back was better than two steps back, at the least.

-~-

Bucky couldn’t help but sigh in relief as his body sank into the mattress. He’d awoken at what he considered to be the crack of dawn that morning to eat breakfast with everyone besides his younger siblings, who’d decided to sleep in, and to say goodbye to Sam, who’d had an early morning train to catch in order to be back in DC with his family for Christmas Eve. His sleep the previous evening had been minimal – for starters, he’d been up late talking to Sam and Becca, and then he’d been woken up shortly before his alarm was set to go off by Winter. While he couldn’t clearly remember what he’d been dreaming, he was reasonably certain it was a nightmare since he’d jerked awake with his heart racing, sheets soaked with sweat, and a soreness in his throat that made him wonder if he’d screamed at least once before Winter did his job and pulled Bucky out and got him reoriented to reality. 

That said, despite his disrupted sleep, Winter immediately proved his worth by remaining by the side of Bucky’s bed, continuing to lick his hand, and looking at him expectantly. His mind sleepily ran through the various commands he’d been taught the previous day. He quickly determined that despite the fact that his heart was still pounding, his hands shaking, he wasn’t in danger of dissociating or slipping into a flashback as far as he could tell.

Instead, he just managed a faint smile and patted the bed beside him and found himself all the more grateful for whatever strings Natasha had managed to pull to allow him to leave the training center the previous day with Winter in tow. He hadn’t known until Sam told him the previous evening that typically getting a service dog could take multiple years just to have the application approved, not to mention that the pairing process often took several weeks spent living at the training facility as well in order for a partnership to develop. The fact that Bucky was paired with Winter in the span of one training session was unheard of. Bucky had the sneaking suspicion that Natasha was likely to thank for that. 

Instead of ruminating on what had just happened - the fact that he’d had a nightmare, that he’d needed Winter to wake him up, that if he’d screamed any louder or anymore than he was pretty sure he had, his parents and siblings might have run into his room to see what was going on – he focused on the sensation of Winter’s fur under his hands. Before he’d known what was happening, he’d managed to snag another hour of sleep before his alarm dragged him awake.

He’d also caught a short nap between Sam’s departure and leaving for the mid-afternoon church service. His parents were nothing if not consistent; the Christmas Eve service in the same church as always, the one he’d gone to for as long as he could remember and probably before then, given that he was reasonably certain it was the same church he’d been baptized in. He could remember playing the responsible big brother when he was younger and trying to keep his younger siblings entertained, his own attention maintained only because he wanted to set a good example for them. 

Thankfully that hadn’t been necessary this evening, given that Bucky had far too much on his mind to entertain his siblings. Now they were all old enough to remain respectful and focused throughout the service. Bucky, for his part, had been mostly fixated on thinking about the worst possible scenarios for the day. He hadn’t been to the church since before he’d shipped out, far enough back that he couldn’t remember the exact date. Then the previous year, he hadn’t been in any shape physically or mentally to be celebrating the holiday and he had a sneaking suspicion that his family might not have either, given everything that happened around that time. 

The fact that he was in a much better place mentally and physically only provided so much relief, particularly when he’d registered that attending the service would be his first real life test with Winter. His mind managed to carve up far too many worst case scenarios, ranging from the benign fear of having to ask small children not to pet his service dog, to the worse fear of dissociating or having a flashback or passing out in public, and then moving to the utterly irrational fear of having a seizure in the middle of the homily, which to his knowledge had never ever happened before and he gathered was unlikely to happen given the length of time since his injury and the fact that his doctors never expressed a concern about that.

At the least, Bucky now recognized that these thoughts were irrational at worst or unhelpful at best and, like most of the things in his life, most of these fears never managed to materialize. There had been a few awkward comments or questions from well meaning family friends about how he was doing or about Winter, though after the first few conversations, he realized that not only was he not as anxious as he would have expected, he actually felt proud of himself for the answers he gave. He could talk about work, living in DC, his relationship, and Winter, and he could look at these accomplishments as a source of pride. Even when he gently had to inform a few of the kids that they couldn’t pet Winter and explain the reason for that, he’d kept himself calm and felt proud of himself for settling appropriate boundaries rather than guilty for fear of disappointing the kids.

Dinner had followed immediately after the church service, out at an Italian restaurant, as they’d done since the number of kids in the family reached three and continued to grow. By that point, it was easier for his parents to pay for a meal out than balance cooking a full Christmas Eve dinner, wrap presents, sneak them down under the tree while the kids slept, be woken up early for present unwrapping, and then cook the Christmas Day brunch and dinner as well. 

Once again, the majority of Bucky’s fears regarding having a service dog in a public place – in this case, a restaurant – also failed to materialize, though he was reasonably certain that was because his parents had gone ahead and informed the restaurant that they would be bringing a service dog along for the meal prior to their arrival. He recognized that while things went smoothly this time, he’d need to be his own advocate in the future. That would be a new type of stressor to manage – he’d heard enough horror stories from other vets over the years about restaurants or busses or other public places refusing admittance due to service dogs - but he felt confident that particularly with his psychologist’s support, he’d be able to navigate it. After all, 99% of the things he worried about never happened. Half of the process would be to dispel those fears; the other half would be to find a way to balance advocating without losing his temper.

Then, once they’d returned home, it was time for each family member to open one Christmas present before each headed up to their rooms. Now, all of the presents were piled under the tree weeks before the holiday occurred, but when Bucky was younger and until his siblings were at an age where they no longer believed in Santa, there would be one present sitting under the tree for each person on Christmas Eve morning. His parents created a story where one of Santa’s elves had come ahead to leave a present for each of them to enjoy before Santa delivered the big haul on Christmas Eve – only once the kids were asleep, of course, because there was no other way to get them to sleep in the midst of all that Christmas Eve excitement. 

After the great unwrapping of the Christmas Eve presents, Bucky found himself in possession of a new leather jacket that made him snicker. One of his last leather jackets had been shredded by Natasha’s old cat, who’d subsequently pissed all over it, thus damaging it beyond repair. Natasha had insisted that it had been Bucky’s own fault this occurred, as he’d recently splashed Kisa with holy water on account of his belief that she was actually a demon, and Natasha stated that Kisa was merely taking revenge as a result of that. She had bought him a replacement jacket that he still wore, though it had much less insulation than this jacket did, as this one was actually geared towards the winter temperatures.

All in all, everything had gone well but by the time the last of his siblings finished opening their presents, he could feel himself starting to drag. After that many hours up and about, he had to admit that he was drained. The disrupted sleep definitely set things off on the wrong foot and the length of time he’d been on his feet hadn’t helped either. Combine that with the fact that he was still recovering from the migraine two days back and the strain of anxiety on his body and mind and he was definitely ready to crash for the evening. He managed to nudge off each one of his sneakers, allowing them to drop down to the floor, and was debating changing out his nice, church clothes and into something more appropriate for sleep when there was a knock on his door.

Without giving him the chance to respond first, a voice questioned, “Bucky?” 

The use of his nickname immediately clued him into the person’s identity and he reluctantly pushed himself into a sitting position, abandoning the comfort of the bed for the time being. “Yeah, Bec. Come in. What’s up?”

His parents still called him James, which he was fine with. Much like Natasha, they were so used to his birth name that they never latched onto the nickname he’d gotten in the military. His sister, though, had adopted it immediately and now, with her frequently using it, his younger siblings were adapting to it as well. Then again, even if he hadn’t recognized Becca’s voice, he wouldn’t have expected that either one of his younger siblings would still be up and about after the majority of the family had retired to their respective bedrooms for the night. 

The door creaked open and Becca stepped into the room. Winter raised his head from where it was pillowed on his paws and Bucky quickly said, “Easy, Winter” and then reluctantly issued the command, “Down, boy” for Winter to hop down from the bed.

Clearly he was already too attached to the dog. That might explain why his church clothes were now thoroughly coated in dog fur.

Winter obediently hopped down to the floor and curled up the dog bed, providing enough room for Becca to join Bucky on the actual bed. She seemed a bit hesitant as she walked over. Bucky felt the slightest thread of unease when she didn’t immediately say anything. He wondered whether he should be the one to talk but felt strange about that when Becca was technically the one who’d come to him. Instead, he waited patiently and after what felt like a long, beginning to verge on awkward, silence - that probably lasted less than a minute but felt like hours - Becca spoke.

“Sorry for bothering you. I know you’re probably tired but I just… I just wanted to see you.” She exhaled slowly before adding, “I was just thinking about last year.”

Those words were all it took for him to start to feel vaguely nauseous. He wanted to attribute that to an impending migraine or overall exhaustion but he knew better than that. He and Becca never had a conversation about what had happened the previous year and while he’d talked extensively to Natasha and Sam about it, he knew that he’d dropped the ball when it came to his family, especially with regard to his sister. His younger siblings hadn’t been candidates for discussion but Becca definitely had been, and instead of talking to her or even, really, to his parents, he’d ran off to DC before he had to face them more than he already had.

Rather than voice any of that or move into the territory of that conversation, he played dumb and warily asked, “What about last year?” 

She shrugged one shoulder, as though the effort of shrugging both was more than she could manage. “The way things were. How you were. How different you are now.” 

She was dancing around the issue – just as he had himself - and he refused to take the bait, if it were bait. “Yeah, a lot’s changed since then.” 

Becca nodded. “It has. Look, I get that this probably isn’t what you want to be talking about on Christmas Eve, so I’m not going to go there if you don’t want me to. I just wanted you to know that I’m really glad to have you _here_.” She stressed the word pointedly, as though he might misunderstand the statement she was making.

Of course, he understood perfectly. 

A slight flash of guilt or shame - he still had a hard time discerning which was which, despite having been through multiple discussions with various doctors about the distinction over the past year - went through him. Not only had he put his parents and siblings – especially Becca – through a whole lot last year, he’d also probably worried them once he moved to DC with his lack of consistent communication. While at the time he hadn’t thought twice about what he was doing, he could only imagine where their minds had gone when he failed to communicate for months at a time, even with Natasha and Sam doing their best to keep them informed.

Still, something stopped him from voicing all of that to Becca. Instead, all he said was, “Yeah, Bec, I’m glad to be here too.”

She shifted closer and, almost automatically, he wrapped his metal arm around her shoulders, not even thinking about his actions given that he still had a long-sleeved button-down shirt covering it. He didn’t realize how much of a change that was until Becca startled the slightest bit, and he remembered that the last time she’d seen him, he wouldn’t have gone near her with his metal arm. In response to the slight tension in her body, his mind immediately jumped to the worst case scenario, namely that she was disgusted by his arm. Bucky contemplated whether he should move away but before he could, she’d wrapped her arms around his waist. He realized that once again, his thoughts veered directly into the category of negative thinking. 

Before he could get too far into frustration with himself for lapsing into old, bad habits, she quietly asked, “Does Steve know?” 

While that took his thoughts away from where they’d been headed, this brought on an entire new set of worries and guilt.

“No,” he replied, just as softly. “I haven’t told him yet.” 

She seemed unsurprised. “Why not?” 

He had enough presence of mind to realize he’d immediately moved into defensive territory, given that his initial response to that question, that he thankfully managed not to verbalize, involved a long list of every reason he hadn’t told Steve anything about what happened at this time last year. This list included the fact that it was none of Steve’s business, that it wasn’t important anymore, and that there was nothing to talk about. Thankfully, he’d learned enough about himself that the moment he felt that spark of anger, he managed to slow himself down, weed through those thoughts, and reconsider his words before he spoke. 

“I wasn’t sure how to,” he finally admitted. “I didn’t want him to look at me differently or worry about something he didn’t need to worry about anymore. I already had Nat there to assess my safety. I didn’t want to put that on Steve too. It also didn’t seem to be the most important thing to bring up at the beginning, since things were a little rocky at the start, and by the time I realized I’d never told him, I didn’t know how to bring it up and I… I guess I just kept making excuses for why I hadn’t.” 

He steeled himself for her response, automatically expecting that he’d have to defend himself against questions or complaints, but Becca just chewed over his words for a few moments and then nodded. “Makes sense to me. Do you think you ever will?” 

He exhaled slowly. “I think so. These past few weeks, it’s been on my mind. He might have noticed that both me and Nat have been acting a little different as the anniversary’s come up. I’ve just been trying to figure out when and how to bring it up, without ruining the holiday season.” The next sentence was difficult to force out. “Suicide’s not exactly a cheery Christmas topic.” 

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever said that word to describe what he’d done the past year, not to Becca. Maybe his parents, definitely his doctors and Sam and Natasha, but saying it to Becca just made it feel too real and drive home what he’d done. He felt and heard Becca inhale sharply. It hurt more than he would have expected. He’d known he’d put his family through hell and then he’d run away before he had to deal with the fallout. The additional months in the hospital hadn’t counted against that, he still hadn’t been in any place mentally or physically to fully process or understand what he’d done. By the time he was getting to a stage where that would have been possible, he was living in DC and didn’t have to face it directly.

“I don’t know,” Becca finally said, her voice surprisingly light, though the tone sounded forced to his ears. “I mean, _It’s a Wonderful Life_ plays every year. That might be as good a transition into that conversation as any.”

“It might.” He took a deep, slow breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry, Bec. Truly, I am. Now, it’s almost hard to think back on how I ended up that desperate. Now I wouldn’t even consider doing something like that again. But, still, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I put you through that, that I put our parents through that, and that I disappeared as soon as I could afterwards. I’m sorry I was gone for so long and that I didn’t stay in touch with you and that I really have no idea what’s gone on in your life or how you’re liking college or what you took last semester or whether you’re dating anyone.”

She sniffled. Bucky realized for the first time that his shirt was starting to soak through with her tears where her face was pressed against it. He hugged her tightly, awkwardly rubbing her back with his metal hand, and tried to think of something to say or do that might fix this entire situation. Her next words helped to ease that anxiety somewhat, which was good, since he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this, like most things that happened in the past, couldn’t be fixed immediately because you can’t change what’s already been done.

“I forgive you, jerk,” she said, her arms tightening around him. “As for college, I’m loving it. My roommate is awesome, most of my professors are pretty great, and I have been seeing a certain guy on and off throughout the semester. We’ll see if it goes anywhere further but I’m supposed to be meeting up with him to bring in the New Year in Time’s Square.” 

With the tone of the conversation shifting, he allowed his own voice to lighten as he offered, “Let me know if you need me to call him up and do the whole, ‘You hurt my sister, I break your kneecaps’ talk. We can even send a picture of my metal arm if you think he needed some extra encouragement.” 

She chuckled, although it came out more as a sob. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll consider taking you up on it.” 

“That’s what big brothers are for, right?”

She tilted her head up at that and he caught the slightest hint of a smile as she said, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, kid.”

He ruffled her hair until she swatted at his hand and grumbled, “I’m not a kid.” There were a few moments of silence as she collected herself, drying her cheeks with the edge of his shirt, which he didn’t begrudge her, before she asked, “You mind if I bring in my blankets and pillows and crash on your floor, like we used to?” 

“Not at all,” Bucky said, surprised by his own lack of hesitation. 

With everyone else, he always found himself preparing them as best he could, hedging on agreeing to something like that, and always reminding them of his nightmares. This time though, he just followed after Becca to her room, grabbing the pillows from the bed as she tugged off a tangle of blankets and sheets, and helped her get everything set up on the floor until there was a nest. As she headed back to her room to change for bed, he took the moment to summon the energy to get out of his church clothes and into a pair of pajamas before she returned. By the time she came back in, he was curled up in bed, Winter beside him. Becca turned off the lights before getting settled herself. There was a long enough silence that he felt himself starting to drift off when her voice tugged him back to at least semi-full consciousness.

“I’m really glad you’re back.” He heard a rustle of cloth before she added, “Sorry. I shouldn’t be keeping you up. It’s already after midnight.” 

“I’m glad to be back,” he said, impressed by his own ability to manage to form full words when he was this exhausted. His thoughts were coming slowly but not slowly enough that he didn’t register what the time signified. “I guess, if it’s after midnight, I should prob’ly say, ‘Merry Christmas.’”

He heard Becca chuckle as he slid more securely under the covers, one hand pressed against Winter’s fur. He couldn’t imagine that it took Becca that long to respond but somehow he barely registered her words, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.” Still, his mind took them in and processed them enough for him to feel a drowsy sense of safety and contentment as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a lot of additional thoughts regarding the inclusion of Bucky's suicide attempt into this fic. However, I do feel that those would be better left until the next chapter when (spoiler alert, I suppose) Bucky will be discussing his suicide attempt, as well as everything leading up to it, in more detail with Steve.
> 
> In other news, we are slowly and steadily making our way towards the end of this story and then into the sequel. There are only two more chapters from here on out. I have part of the next chapter written, as well as quite a bit more of the sequel, and I am hopeful to have these next two chapters posted before the one year anniversary. I did just start work today and work's really going to be heating up next week but with a steady Monday through Friday schedule, I don't think my writing will be impacted.


	39. It's A Wonderful Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has his first outing with Winter, Steve meets Bucky's entire family (and survives), Wanda comes to the beginning of a decision that may change everything, Bucky has an open and incredibly difficult conversation with Steve, and Clint reunites with his brother in New York.
> 
> In other words, a chapter that was intended to be happy and ends with many more trigger warnings than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, major trigger warnings for this chapter involving frank discussion of suicide and quite a few indirect and direct references to child abuse. 
> 
> Secondly, happy anniversary to this story. Amazing to realize that it's been one year and I am now one chapter away from this monstrosity coming to a close - or, at least this part of the story since the sequel is still coming. Thank you to everyone who found this story early on and stuck with it, found it along the way and came along for the ride, and even to those who started out this journey and determined they would prefer not to finish it. I am so grateful to each and everyone one of you. This story has meant a lot to me to tell over this past year and the fact that others enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it is something I am immensely grateful for.
> 
> My goal at this time is to hopefully complete this fic within the next week and, if everything goes according to plan, start the sequel soon after (as portions have already been written). I hope that some of you will stay along for that ride because there is so much more to tell before my time in this alternate universe comes to an end.
> 
> Much love! <3

The wintery air of New York City nearly took the breath out of him. Bucky’s throat burned in response. With his few inches of bare skin prickling, he hoped against hope that the temperature wouldn’t cause any problems with Steve’s asthma. He kept his head up and his shoulders squared as he moved along the street. Ahead of him, Winter cleared a path, walking just a few steps in front, just enough that it forced the crowd on the streets to step around him. 

He’d been wary of walking to Penn Station on his own, with his father waiting in the car in the garage a couple of blocks away but several conversations with Sam and Natasha convinced him to see how this trial run with Winter would go. After all, getting Winter was meant to help him have more freedom. This was a perfect chance to find out what that freedom might look like, with the safety net of his father in the car and Steve at the train station. 

Still, when he’d initially stepped out of the garage, he’d balked upon seeing the crowd moving along the sidewalk. Walking through the streets was bound to be difficult enough; Penn Station would be an absolute nightmare. Before he could turn on his heel, head back to the car, and swallow down his shame in asking his father to walk with him, Winter lightly tugged on the leash and took a tentative step forward. 

He’d allowed himself one deep breath before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Within a matter of steps, he discovered that Winter changed everything. Despite the large number of people crowding the streets, simply having Winter to direct traffic was enough to decrease his anxiety and not leave him feeling penned in. He kept his eyes focused, gaze straight ahead, and one block turned into two, then three, and within what felt like mere moments, he had reached Penn Station.

All of this was a far cry from his experience just a few days ago, when he’d arrived with his sister and disembarked the train and stepped right into a panic attack. Once they were inside and he’d found a place to sit, Winter continued to be unflappable, even in the face of the hundreds of people milling around Penn Station. The dog sat alertly at Bucky’s feet, close enough for Bucky to rest his hand on his head. Winter’s level of calm was contagious. If his dog wasn’t worried, Bucky figured that he could decrease his own level of hypervigilance. After all, animals could sense things people couldn’t.

Still, his anxiety lingered, just muted to the edges. To steady himself, Bucky kept his primary focus on the sensation of Winter’s fur against the palm of his hand and tried to let all of the other sensory stimulation drain out of his awareness. There were too many people and colors and sounds. He knew if he didn’t keep his focus limited, he’d become overwhelmed almost immediately, just as he had when he and Becca arrived a few days back. 

His level of calm felt strange and a bit unnatural to him. He still hadn’t sorted out whether this was a placebo effect or related to some combination of feeling safer with Winter, as well as having him to maintain focus on. While there was no doubt in his mind that a few weeks ago, walking to Penn Station and waiting for his boyfriend to arrive would have been impossible, he found his mind already shifting over to worries that maybe this was just temporary and in the future, he’d find it just as difficult as it would have been then. Still, he managed to challenge that thought, reminding himself that even if this was a one time thing and it might get harder the next time, it was still a damn good first step and something he could keep working on if necessary.

He shifted around in his pocket for his cell phone, checking Steve’s last message, sent about 15 minutes ago, where he’d mentioned that they were expected to pull into the station shortly. From what he could gather, based on the lack of texts from Steve and the information on the arrivals board, the train hadn’t arrived yet. Bucky was surprisingly grateful for that. It gave him a few more minutes to contemplate the conversation he planned to have with Steve that evening.

Ever since talking with Becca, he’d recognize that this was a conversation he needed to also have with Steve and, perhaps more or equally as importantly, a conversation that he felt ready to have. While a part of him continued to feel guilty for not telling Steve yet, he also recognized the reasons for that, as well as the fact that he couldn’t change that now. He couldn’t imagine how Steve might respond but that was one of the many things completely outside of his control. All he could control was how he presented everything to Steve and how he responded to whatever Steve said or did afterwards.

His phone vibrated in his hand, pulling him away from those thoughts. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the message from Steve, saying that the train had arrived. The conversation with Steve could wait. For the moment, he simply felt excited to reunite with Steve after what felt like closer to weeks than days. A lot happened during that time, between Bucky’s reuniting with his family, getting Winter, his conversation with Becca, and the overall celebration of Christmas. Part of him didn’t feel like the same person who’d arrived by train a few days back. Then again, he figured that was more because he’d recognized that he was nothing like the man who’d moved to D.C. not even a year ago.

Determining that he’d be better served staying put and letting Steve find him, rather than risk overwhelming himself by being the one searching, he remained sitting and texted Steve back with his location in the train station, managing to look around long enough to identify some objects that could serve as decent landmarks and then passing them along as well. 

“Ready to meet Steve?” he asked Winter, who did not seem to share Bucky’s excitement, although Bucky attributed that to the dog’s excellent training. 

A minute ticked by, then another, with Bucky anxiously watching the numbers on his phone change and trying to curb what he logically knew was excitement but felt as though it were shifting into anxiety. He’d learned enough in treatment to recognize that sometimes one’s body misinterpreted physiological sensations and had difficulty assessing which emotion that particular feeling related to. Instead of dwelling on that, he used the action of petting Winter to continue to ground himself. Winter shifted closer, resting his weight against Bucky’s legs, further helping to keep him grounded. 

Then he caught a voice – Steve’s voice – calling his name and maybe he should have been concerned about losing time because one moment he was petting Winter, then he looked up at the sound of his name being called and spotted Steve through the crowd. The next thing he knew, he was on his feet and his arms practically crushed Steve against his chest. He tried to remind himself to be aware of the difference in strength between his metal arm and flesh and blood one but all he really cared about were Steve’s arms wrapped just as tightly around him. 

Bucky couldn’t have said which one of them initiated the kiss but the next thing he knew, Steve’s lips were pressed against his own and Bucky didn’t give a flying fuck who saw them. One of them or both of them mumbled, “I missed you” between hungry kisses, as though they’d gone months or years separated instead of less than a week.

When they finally broke apart, each one near gasping for breath, the rest of the world suddenly came back into clear focus around Bucky, almost to the point of overwhelming him with the sudden flood of sensory information. Still, the sight of Steve grinning widely at him helped keep him focused and he realized, after a moment’s reflection, that he was grinning right back.

“Hey there,” Steve said, when he finally managed to speak.

Bucky echoed the words right back, then added, almost as an afterthought, “This is Winter.”

Steve kept a respectful distance from Winter, although he seriously said, “Hey, Winter. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Bucky didn’t think he could have loved Steve anymore in that moment. Clearly he’d internalized all of the information about service dogs and how to interact with them, making it so that Bucky didn’t have to worry about reminding his boyfriend of the dog’s boundaries while Winter worked. He stifled the urge to kiss Steve again, knowing that if he did, the two of them would likely find themselves distracted and wrapped up in each other all over again.

Instead, he somewhat reluctantly informed Steve, “The car’s a couple blocks away. You up for carrying your stuff that far?”

“Made it through Union Station, I’m pretty sure I can make it the rest of the way to the car,” Steve said with a half-smile.

Bucky took the words at face value rather than pressing the matter, seeing as it weren’t as though he could carry Steve’s bags himself. Not while contending with managing the crowd and Winter. Which was perfectly fine. He needed to set boundaries and limits for himself and recognize that there was nothing wrong with focusing on himself, particularly when it weren’t as though his services were desperately needed in this moment. As time went on, he found himself becoming more accepting and less critical, despite the continued initial impulse to berate himself.

Instead, he reached for Steve’s hand, straightened his shoulders, and headed out into the New York winter.

-~-

When Wanda considered the last few months, it was hard to believe how much had changed. Not only were she and Pietro in a completely safe environment for the first time in far too long – truly, if she were to consider the last time they were safe, she wasn’t certain she could identify a day, seeing as they certainly hadn’t been safe when they were orphaned and the majority of their time in Talbot’s house had been far from safe, even before their adoptive mother died, and since the two of them left home and went on the run, their safety had been minimal at best – but now they had a house, a room, all the food they needed, and the freedom to explore to a degree, at least at Shield. 

She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that they were completely safe; there was a reason they only went to two places and were never outside for any length of time. Still though, there was something comforting about at least having a home base where they could sleep and rest and knew that no one inside the walls were going to harm them in any way.

Despite that, there were still things to concern her. After all, Clint had been injured by the Russian mob more times than she believed they’d even been told about and with Clint recently becoming progressive more distracted and distant, she couldn’t help but worry that their might be a reason for that, a reason that had something to do with her and her brother. 

On the other hand, it also could have had something to do with the visit by Natasha’s father on Christmas Eve. Wanda didn’t know a whole lot about what had happened, given that she and Pietro spent the evening in their room, trying to keep their movements minimal. It hadn’t been exactly pleasant, seeing as Wanda recognized that feeling of being penned in and unable to make a sound from far too many days and nights before they ran away, but she’d managed to stay mindful that they were no longer with Talbot and the circumstances here were very, very different. Additionally, she’d focused on the recent tension between Clint, Natasha, and her father and the fact that if Natasha allowed him to stay, it was clear that the situation was resolving.

Afterwards, Natasha came up with a plate of food for each of them a little before midnight, with apologies for leaving them cooped upstairs for that long, Wanda noted she was in brighter spirits, which also suggested that the dinner went well. While Pietro had been short and curt with his responses, Wanda had assured Natasha that it was fine and they were all right remaining hidden while her father was there. Honestly, Wanda had anticipated that with that resolved, everything would be improving from here on out.

Which was why the situation with Clint kept bothering her. He’d been more distracted than usual over the past day, forgetting where he’d placed things, heating up food in the microwave twice, and, on one occasion, calling Wanda by Natasha’s name and apparently doing the same to Natasha at another point. Natasha herself seemed a bit concerned but not really worried. Wanda considered that to be a good sign indicating the situation wasn’t dire.

On this particular morning, Clint stayed up in Natasha’s room. When Natasha came downstairs, thanking the twins - who’d made breakfast once again – she then informed them that she and Clint would be gone in the evening and made certain they were comfortable with that. Wanda assured Natasha that they were fine but that had only served to increase her worry and the moment Pietro started casually talking with Natasha about his plan for his next tattoo – and doing a perfect job distracting her while Wanda moved towards the stairs – Wanda went to see if she could gather more information from Clint himself.

She knocked lightly on the door, waiting until Clint said, “Come in” to step inside. Clint sat on the bed, Lucky curled up beside him, with an envelope in his hand that he quickly tossed aside when Wanda entered the room. 

Before she could say anything, he quickly asked, “So, you two feeling alright about being on your own here tonight?”

She glanced at the direction the envelope floated in before accepting his attempt to change the subject.

“We’re fine with that. It’s not as though it’s the first time we’ve been on our own. We can manage a night.” Then she tried to zero in on the question still on her mind, hoping it would be a casual enough way of asking to maybe find out what was going on with Clint. “Where are you guys going?” 

“New York,” Clint said, then hesitated for a long moment before continuing. “My brother’s there. I’m going to meet up with him.”

“Your brother,” she echoed. “That’s nice.” Then, when Clint stiffened, she tried to clarify, “Is that nice?”

“It’s… something. I haven’t seen him in a long time. It’s sort of a bittersweet reunion.” 

Wanda tried to put herself into Clint’s shoes, without any additional information, of course, and found that impossible. The thought of going any length of time without seeing her brother made her stomach knot up. Either Clint and his brother weren’t as close as she and Pietro were – which she recognized made sense given that aside from being twins, the reason she and Pietro were so close had a lot to do with how the two of them grew up – or something had caused some bad blood between Clint and his brother.

“How long has it been?” she asked, after a moment of being uncertain how to respond. “I mean, since you last saw him?”

“Five, ten years. I don’t even know. I keep trying not to think about it, to be honest.” 

The mere thought of going that many years without speaking with or seeing her brother increased the sinking feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t imagine Pietro ever doing anything that would hurt her enough to make her let that much time go by without seeing him. 

“What’s changed now?”

“Nothing, really,” he replied. “I figure it’s just time to give him another chance. He reached out to me. I guess I’m hoping that he’s… that we’ve… changed enough for things to be different this time.” 

“But you’re… not happy about it?” she queried trying to make sense of what Clint was telling her.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” He sighed. “He has a way of causing problems wherever he goes but he’s still my brother, y’know?”

“Not really. Pietro’s never been like that. Well, not to the point where we would have gone years without talking, at least.”

“That’s Barney for you. I don’t know, part of me is glad to be seeing him. He’s the only family I’ve got left, after all, for better or worse. Plus maybe… just maybe… he’s changed.”

The sheer amount of hope in Clint’s voice nearly broke her heart. Without a word, she stepped closer and hugged him. It had only been a couple of months of knowing him but Clint was kind. He’d taken them into without question. He’d kept them safe. He’d put himself in danger to protect them. 

“I hope he has. You deserve that and more.”

He ruffled her hair and murmured, “Thanks, kid.”

Something about his tone made her think her words hadn’t fully registered and so she pressed him a bit more.

“I mean it. You’ve done more for us than anyone has before in our lives.”

She still told herself that maybe their adopted mother hadn’t known how bad things could get. Then again, Talbot had kept things toned down then. There had been yelling, harsher lectures than were warranted, the less frequent too tight grip on an arm or shoulder that on only one occasion resulted in actual injury, and a few open handed slaps, but he tried to keep those strictly to those times when his wife wasn’t around or wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t until after she died, after the fire that Wanda still swore was her fault despite her brother’s assurances that it had only been an accident, that things changed. That was when no one helped. That had stemmed from her father’s intentionally oblivious colleagues to the on-call doctor whose only job appeared to be to make certain that when things reached their worst, neither of the twins – usually Pietro because of his quick temper and tendency to purposely antagonize Talbot – didn’t die as a result of any injuries. 

But Clint recognized they were in trouble, that they needed a place to stay, and he’d made certain that they remained safe and offered them more than anyone else ever had in their lives and he’d done that at a high cost to himself. She and her brother couldn’t thank him enough for that or ever repay him.

Clint offered her a lopsided grin. “Like I said, thanks, kid.” 

He stepped back, then bent down to pick up the envelope before straightening and placing it on the nightstand. 

As Wanda puzzled over the information she’d gathered and how that fit together with what she’d previously known about Clint, Natasha called from downstairs, “Clint, we need to go.”

“Hey, Luck, keep an eye on the house for me,” Clint said, scratching Lucky behind the ears. “And, Wanda, I’m trusting you to keep an eye on my dog.” 

“I think I can manage that.”

He patted her shoulder as he walked past her towards the door. Wanda marveled over the fact that he trusted her to do something like that, not to mention watch the house as well. As his footsteps moved down the stairs, she felt a sudden, unexpected sense of unease. 

While it had been wonderful to be somewhere safe for the past couple of months, she knew they couldn’t let things continue this way. It wasn’t only that it was putting the others in danger, although that was definitely part of it. After the times she’d seen Clint injured because of them, ignoring his arguments that he’d gotten into trouble without their help, she’d recognized this couldn’t last. 

But beyond that, she and Pietro couldn’t just live in the townhouse for the rest of their lives. It was easy to fall into that pattern – first they’d been prisoners in Talbot’s house, then they were always looking over their shoulders while on the streets, and now they at least had a safe place but they weren’t any freer than they’d been in those other places.

Something would need to change, sooner or later because she was damned if she was going to let Talbot ruin the rest of their lives. He’d already taken enough from them while they were growing up. 

He wasn’t going to control their actions forever.

-~- 

By the time dinner ended, Steve felt as though he’d always been at Bucky’s parents’ house, spending time with his family. He could barely think back on that morning when he woke up in his room at his mom’s house, in the bed that he’d had pretty much since childhood to the sound – and smell – of her cooking a pancake and bacon breakfast. He’d preferred not to remember how guilty he felt over the fact that she’d woken up early to cook for him to feed him before taking him to the train station. The guilt just escalated when he thought of leaving, despite the fact that she’d continually promised him that she was doing fine and encouraging him to continue his plans to visit and have a good time in New York. He’d even promised to bring back an entire bag of bagels for her. They really didn’t taste as good anywhere else.

All through the train ride, Steve had tried to keep his mind off of that subject. He’d brought his sketchbook out and at first tried to sketch out some recent commissions and, then, determining that the swaying of the train wouldn’t help him manage any significant work on that, went to his default drawing images, 95% of which revolved around Bucky. The way Bucky’s hair fell across his face while curled up in bed, when he looked calm and sleepy and perfectly relaxed. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed and was happy and at ease. Even the way his eyes looked when his mood darkened, when his expression became closed off and guarded. Steve recognized that Bucky wasn’t always going to be doing as well, that there were those moments when Bucky wasn’t going to be as okay, and he wanted to capture those as well.

Drawing held maybe half of his concentration but at least he’d had the occasional text message to also keep his mind on the present moment, with Bucky informing him that his dad was giving him a ride to the train station, and that he was going to attempt to brave the station alone, with Winter for support. That at least gave Steve something different to worry about, since while he trusted that Bucky could manage – and fully supported him taking this next step – he also worried that Bucky might find this too overwhelming as a first venture out. When he received no panicked texts, he found himself hopeful that Bucky managed the situation without difficulty.

When he’d reached the station, all other thoughts flew from his mind, other than his eagerness to see his boyfriend. He’d all but ran – mindful that he was carrying his bag and far too prone to asthma attacks, which was not the first impression he wanted to make on Bucky’s family – and when he’d seen Bucky standing there, Winter seated calmly at his feet, he couldn’t have been prouder. This was a far different Bucky from the one he’d first met at Shield all those months back. That one had barely been able to meet Steve’s eyes and kept his shoulders hunched protectively. This one appeared more relaxed – or at least as relaxed as anyone could be in a crowded train station – and grinned the moment his eyes fell on Steve. 

He’d almost forgotten to be nervous when it came to meet Bucky’s father in the car, though the ride had been smooth, with most of the questions focused on Steve’s work and his schooling, all easy for him to answer. When they arrived at the house, he hadn’t even gotten inside before Becca ran out to greet them, followed by the rest of Bucky’s siblings, all of whom had five million questions to ask Steve. Bucky seemed quite content not to intervene and just watch with amusement glinting in his eyes until his mom saved Steve from the interrogation only to start one of her own.

The rest of the day passed more quickly than Steve would have expected. Bucky showed him around the house and neighborhood, then returned to the house to show off Winter and all of the commands he knew – Steve recognized there was a double reason for that, namely that if there were an instance where Steve were there and Bucky wasn’t in a state to be issuing some of the commands himself, it would be beneficial for Steve also to know, although he gathered that overall Winter knew what to do just fine on his own. Then there was enough downtime for about half of a movie before dinner was ready and a second set of interrogations began.

Steve hadn’t minded. After all, it was natural for Bucky’s family to be curious about him. While he didn’t quite believe that he deserved as much credit as they kept giving him – there was a lot of talk about how well Bucky was doing now and how much that was due to his work at Shield and his relationship with Steve – it was nice to consider the fact that he might have had something to do with helping Bucky.

Or at least that was how he’d felt until he noticed Bucky’s gaze turning distant and his expression darkening the slightly. When he’d squeezed Bucky’s hand, Bucky responded with a squeeze of his own and flashed a smile, but Steve felt reasonably certain there was something on Bucky’s mind. He knew him well enough to catch his moods and something about this conversation, or at least something Bucky must have been thinking about, had brought about this change. 

He didn’t initially have a chance to ask because he’d offered to help with the dishes, despite the fact that Bucky’s mother assured him he didn’t have to. Given that he’d made the offer, he kept his promise and tried not to think too hard about what was going on as Bucky’s footsteps – and Winter’s accompanying ones – made their way up the stairs. If anything, he’d become comfortable enough to let his thoughts wander while still in the presence of Bucky’s parents, given that Mrs. Barnes’ voice caught him a bit off guard. 

“He really is a lot happier now than I’ve seen him since he went off to boot camp.” 

“I’m glad,” Steve said. He wasn’t quite sure what else to say, and it was a lot easier to just keep his attention on rinsing off the plates in his hand and moving them to the dishwasher. 

“I think you offering him that job went a long way for supporting his recovery and I know we’ve already thanked you more than once but… but thank you. It’s nice to see him looking like his old self again.” She offered Steve a smile before adding, “Even if I’m not thrilled with the hair.” 

“That I don’t think I can help you with,” Steve said with a laugh. “Bucky does what he wants there.” 

“He always had. He was a good kid. Didn’t get himself into trouble but once he was a teenager, he was all about dyed hair, tattoos, piercings, and cigarettes. Thankfully he finally broke the smoking habit, a little before or after he moved to DC, if I’m not mistaken. I’m pretty sure Natasha insisted on him quitting before he moved in with her.” 

“Gotta say I’m grateful for that,” Steve said with a slight chuckle. “Don’t think my asthma would’ve worked well with that habit.” 

“Probably not. It sounds like it’s definitely good for both of you.” 

Steve loaded the final dish into the dishwasher. “Anything else you need help with?” 

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve. Go find James and relax.” She paused before adding, “I’m sorry we don’t have more spare places to sleep but I trust that sharing a bed with James won’t be… problematic.” 

“I promise we’ll behave ourselves,” Steve assured her, though he took that moment to exit before his skin flushed anymore than it already was. There was nothing quite like talking to his boyfriend’s mother about being appropriate in the bedroom.

Steve took the stairs as quickly as possible and lightly knocked on the door, waiting for Bucky’s confirmation of, “Come in” before entering. He found Bucky standing by the dresser, staring at something inside one of the top drawers. Winter lay curled up on the bed, watching Bucky intently, almost worriedly. Steve moved slowly as he caught the look on Bucky’s face. It wasn’t something he could readily identify, either because there were too many emotions or not enough of them. Something about that made him nervous.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Bucky said quietly, and even his tone gave no further clues to what was going through his mind. 

Not to mention, those might have been Steve’s most hated words in the English language. In his experience, having someone you cared about tell you they needed to talk rarely meant anything good. Still, things had seemed good for most of the day. If it were bad news about their relationship, he had no doubt Bucky would have talked to him before Steve spent the time and money to travel all the way out here. That also didn’t seem particularly likely given that as far as Steve knew, things were going well between them. After all, all of their recent conversations revolved around them missing one another and Bucky had taken up the challenge of meeting Steve at the train station despite how anxiety provoking that was for him. Besides, while the two of them hadn’t had much time to spend alone throughout the day, Bucky appeared genuinely excited to see him.

No, this couldn’t have anything to do with their relationship. Just because things suddenly flipped around with Tony didn’t mean the same thing would happen with Bucky. Bucky wasn’t Tony – thank God for that – and their relationship wasn’t anything like his relationship with Tony had been. This was something else entirely and, in some ways, that made Steve all the more nervous for what was coming.

He realized how long he’d been silent when he caught a flicker of fear as Bucky’s gaze locked on his. “Alright. What’s up?”

With that prompt, Bucky tugged a small box out of the drawer and the second it opened Steve recognized the object inside. After all, he’d seen the heart shaped medallion with the purple ribbon every time he walked past the mantle over the fireplace at home. Somehow it had never occurred to Steve until now that Bucky would have been awarded the same merit as Steve’s father received when he was killed in action. But, then, Bucky’s injuries occurred in combat and that made him equally as eligible. 

Bucky cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “Y’know, no one goes into the military hoping to come home with this. A lot of people seem to think we do but there are a lot of other ribbons and medals I earned over the years that meant a lot more to me. It’s not like you have to actively do anything to earn this one. For the first couple months after it was awarded, I couldn’t stand to look at it. The sight of it made me sick. It was just another reminder of what happened to me and what I’d lost. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, not exactly.”

Steve swallowed hard, his stomach knotting up. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

A part of him didn’t want to know. It was clear that it wasn’t just the Purple Heart Bucky wanted to show him. The room felt charged and he had the sudden sensation of standing over a deep crevice, with Bucky’s next words potentially shoving him over that edge. Bucky took his time before speaking by carefully replacing the medal in the box and tucking it back into the drawer. Then, as he closed the drawer and turned his full attention onto Steve, he took a deep breath, then another. The fact that he seemed to be preparing himself for what to say increased Steve’s nervousness. 

“I know I haven’t talked to you much about how things were last year. By the time you met me, I was doing a hell of a lot better than I had been and last year… last year right around this time was definitely the worst. I’d finally gotten out of the hospital and I was back home with my family but everything else was falling apart. I thought when I got out of the hospital and I was back home, things would be different. Instead I felt like I’d fallen into a hole and I couldn’t get out. Every day the small amount of sunlight I could see was getting farther and farther away and… and I’m not making any sense.” 

The pieces were starting to come together. Steve hoped the direction his thoughts were going didn’t reflect actual fact. The Bucky standing in front of him right now wouldn’t, couldn’t have gotten to that point. That couldn’t be what he was saying.

Almost as though Bucky realized where Steve’s thoughts were going, he averted his gaze before continuing. “What I’m trying to say is that I got low. Really, really low. I was having enough trouble coping with the loss of my arm and because of how high up the injury went, I’d been told that the possibility of a prosthesis was pretty much nonexistent. Combined with the fact that I didn’t know what was going on with me mentally, it was a lot to manage. I hadn’t been assessed for TBI really, the focus was more on my blown up arm, and since I could function reasonably well, no one checked me much for that – and I’d lied on every PTSD screener I’d been given. I mean, hell, we all knew the right answers to say and that if we answered them the wrong way, it would mean more treatment and a longer time until we got home. Besides, I figured that whatever was going on… I could handle it, or at least I thought I could, and it would go away sooner or later.” 

Steve swallowed hard but didn’t interrupt. Despite the fact that his thoughts were racing in all sorts of different directions, he tried to remain focused and attentive on what Bucky was saying in this moment. 

“It was bad enough I’d gotten blown to hell and back, that I’d lost an arm and been discharged. It might sound strange that I was upset about being discharged but there you go. A lot of people don’t seem to understand that. I mean, I got injured so badly and obviously I saw enough shit to fuck me up but being a soldier… that was who I was and what I did. Being in the military was my life and even more than that, I had a duty to my men. The fact that an injury like mine wouldn’t allow me to return to action was fucking devastating. Again, that might not make sense to you… that I was more concerned with losing that life than I was with the fact that my heart stopped twice and I was lucky to still be breathing. The way I saw it, I’d already let my men down by not protecting the ones in the Hum-V with me. I couldn’t think about them – the ones who died and the ones I’d left - without feeling horribly guilty for abandoning them and then wondering how many of ‘em died because I wasn’t there to save them.”

At that, he stopped to take a few deep breaths. Steve still remained silent. While Bucky had talked to him a fair amount about his recovery, he’d always glossed over the earlier days. He’d barely talked to Steve about his actual experience in the military, aside from the small bits of information that came out post-nightmare, and he’d definitely never talked about what it was like for him to be separated from that life. Seeing Bucky’s breathing grow ragged despite his attempts to keep himself calm left Steve wanting to reach out to him, but he couldn’t gauge yet whether Bucky wanted to be touched. Given that Bucky also had Winter there, Steve figured that he’d wait for a cue as to whether he needed comfort. If he did, then Bucky could determine what form of comfort would help him the most.

Bucky continued after a few more moments of collecting himself, and his voice shook. “So, I wasn’t about to admit to any symptoms of PTSD. That wasn’t something that happened to me, that was something that happened to other people who couldn’t cope, and I was determined to cope because I was already broken enough without that diagnosis as well. I felt ashamed at the mere thought of having PTSD, so I just pretended that I didn’t and I figured that sooner or later things would get better, the symptoms would stop, and I’d be fine. 

“But weeks went by and the nightmares wouldn’t let me sleep and the panic attacks and flashbacks kept me from going out and the headaches wouldn’t stop and I was losing time and forgetting things all over the place. I’d go down to the kitchen and have no idea why I’d walked down the stairs in the first place. I’d be sitting in my room and look at the clock and then blink and it would be several hours later. The more my body let me down, the more ashamed I felt. I could see how much all of this was draining my family. I snapped at my parents, even yelled at Becca a few times, and I could see that my youngest brother and sister were terrified of me because of how angry I’d get and I couldn’t seem to control myself.”

Bucky straightened his shoulders, tightened his jaw, and Steve knew without a doubt that whatever Bucky was leading up to would be said in a moment. He already had the sickening feeling he knew exactly where this was going.

“Anger was the core of it, I guess. Anger and shame. Anger at myself for getting injured, anger at the world, even some anger at the military, though I never really blamed ‘em. The more angry I felt, the more ashamed I felt, and it all turned into a vicious cycle that escalated until the day I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and I mixed a bunch of my meds together and took ‘em all at once.” 

He was quiet for a moment, as though to let his words sink in, and he kept his eyes locked on the ground instead of looking up at Steve. Steve considered this to be a good thing, given that he wasn’t certain what expression Bucky would find him wearing. The last thing he wanted to do was to upset Bucky more. If Bucky were to see how angry Steve felt at this moment, he might get the wrong idea and think that Steve were angry with him when that wasn’t the case. Steve was angry - he didn’t think it was exactly at Bucky although to be honest he wasn’t sure - but the thought of Bucky getting to that point where he thought killing himself was his only option. 

On some level, he wasn’t surprised – there’d been enough hints over the months of their relationship and he knew suicide was an increasing concern among veterans – but it still hurt to hear Bucky admit to attempting to take his own life. Almost as hard – or harder – was trying to envision Bucky at that point where he believed he was so broken that there were no other options for him. He’d heard enough from Bucky over the months of their relationship to know that he still held onto some of those beliefs, and hearing Bucky talk about himself like that always managed to infuriate him. He didn’t get how Bucky couldn’t see all of the good things about himself that Steve saw.

He was yanked from his thoughts when Bucky continued. “Thankfully, I’d been texting with Natasha. I hadn’t said anything directly because I didn’t want anyone to stop me but I guess with the guilt and all, especially with her and Sam doing so much for me over the past couple of months, I’d given her enough clues that I’d done something to hurt myself. She called an ambulance and let my parents know. That got me medical treatment in time, although it led to more weeks spent in the hospital and plenty of complications, and then it was off to a VA sponsored psych ward until everyone was convinced I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore.” 

He finally did raise his eyes from the floor and whatever expression he caught on Steve’s face must have been okay because his expression relaxed the slightest bit. “It was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me, to be honest. That sounds fucked up but I met other veterans coping with PTSD, I got formally evaluated for TBI, and suddenly I could understand what was happening to me. For the first time, I could consider that having these issues didn’t mean I was weak or broken – although that’s still something I have a hard time accepting most days. I found out that there were ways of making both of those conditions more manageable. In the middle of the hospitalization, I also heard about the new Stark tech prosthetics and that at least helped me to manage that portion of my recovery, since all along I’d been told that with an injury like mine, a prosthetic device wasn’t happening. The surgery meant more time in the hospital but I was willing to go through with it. By the time I was through recovery, I wasn’t as low as I had been.” 

“I know that’s a lot to throw at you,” he continued. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want you to worry. When people hear words like ‘suicide’ they seem to always be on high alert and to be honest, I fucking hate that. Natasha and Sam spent most of the past year watching me closely and checking in at any possibility I might be getting to that point again, and I felt pretty ashamed by that, too. Honestly, it hasn’t been a concern in quite awhile. I haven’t wanted to hurt myself, I haven’t even thought about hurting myself, and I didn’t want you to constantly be wondering whether I might do something again. The other reason I didn’t tell you was that I was ashamed. I was ashamed for not getting help sooner, for not reaching out to my friends or doctors, and for giving up and risking the loss of all of the amazing experiences I had over the past several months. Meeting you, working at Shield, creating this entire life in DC never felt possible at this time last year but it happened, and I’m happier than I ever could have imagined.” 

Part of Steve was relieved to hear that, given that he’d just been reflecting on the fact that had Bucky not survived the attempt, the two of them never would have met. He wouldn’t be sitting here, with Bucky, at this moment and the last few months of his life would’ve been very, very different. Before his thoughts could go much further in that direction, he realized Bucky had officially stopped talking. Steve needed to say something, preferably fast, given how much Bucky just dropped on him. Bucky’s shoulders hunched protectively; while half of his body language seemed to be saying he didn’t want to be touched, the other half was practically screaming for some sort of comfort or reassurance from Steve.

“I’m glad you’re telling me now and that you felt ready to tell me,” Steve said, when he felt he could finally trust his voice, and supplemented the words by reaching for Bucky’s metal hand. “Also that you’re still here now, able to tell me about all of this.” 

He didn’t pull away, which Steve considered to be a good sign, although when he spoke, his voice shook. “Yeah? I haven’t scared you off?”

“Never,” Steve promised, and tugged Bucky closer to him.

When Bucky came willingly, Steve wrapped his arms around him and smoothed his hair back as Bucky leaned down to bury his face against Steve’s shoulder. Bucky wasn’t quite crying, wasn’t quite not; either way, his breathing was coming out in ragged gasps.

“I haven’t really told anyone that before,” Bucky choked out. “I mean, Nat, Sam, and my family already knew and every new doctor I got could see the suicide flag in my record until a couple months back when they took it off. Even though I talked about it to all of them, it was different. Telling you now… plus talking to Becca about it earlier…I don’t know. It made it really, really real. A lot of times it doesn’t feel like something that actually happened to me. When I think back on everything, it’s… it’s weird. It’s like watching a tape with no color and I feel so goddamned disconnected, like I’m watching someone else go through all of this.” 

Steve couldn’t quite find the words to respond, maybe because he’d never reached that point himself and it was hard to put himself in Bucky’s shoes and enter that kind of mindset. It also didn’t fully fit in with his current picture of Bucky, who might have been struggling but wasn’t at that level. 

Instead, he just pulled Bucky over to the bed – Bucky murmured, “Down, Winter” and the dog hopped down, which Steve considered to be a good sign if Bucky felt able to manage his emotional state and didn’t need to keep Winter close. Bucky automatically took a seat, with Steve settling down beside him. Although Bucky’s breathing still wasn’t quite steady, already it did seem a bit more even than it had a few moments ago and while his face was wet with tears, he seemed surprisingly calm.

Steve felt far from calm himself. Keeping his hands – and the rest of his body – from shaking was becoming an increasingly difficult thing to do. Focusing on himself just seemed to be making that worse, so he just kept his attention on Bucky, threading his fingers through his hair until Bucky’s muscles unclenched and his breathing evened out entirely. It wasn’t until then that Steve tucked himself under Bucky’s arm and curled up against him and finally broke the silence. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d never met you.” 

“I know,” Bucky murmured. “It’s… I… I hate thinking about it because of that and because of everyone I hurt. I just… I need you to know that I’d never do something like that again, Steve. I promise I wouldn’t.”

“I believe you,” Steve assured him. “But… but if you did… if you were thinking about that, I’d just want you to tell me so that I could help you.” 

“I would. I never want to be that far down again.”

Steve tilted his head up to meet Bucky’s gaze and somehow in the process, his lips brushed against Bucky’s. Before he could a conscious decision to kiss him, it was already happening, and somehow it seemed to be the right thing to do. It definitely seemed to be a better way of expressing his emotions than his earlier attempts to do so verbally. Bucky, for his part, didn’t seem to have a problem with that, given that he was kissing Steve back almost as desperately. 

If Bucky could handle telling Steve this information, Steve could handle hearing it.

And he’d be damned if Bucky ever reached that point again.

-~-

The college students and high-schoolers still packed the coffee shop at this time of the night, accompanied by hipsters taking artful pictures of their drinks and pastries and a bunch of potentially future novelists and/or bloggers working on their computers. From what Clint could tell, coffee shops in New York were pretty much the same as the ones in DC. The only difference here was that there wasn’t Jane’s friendly face greeting him at the counter and he didn’t know the majority of the people inside, all of which was for the best given his reason for being here. 

While the setting was familiar, he felt disconnected and disjointed by the differences. He’d grabbed his peppermint chocolate latte and retreated to the back of the store, scoring a table a bit out of the way. He half-wondered if Barney would be able to find him there, then if he cared, and then half-hoped Barney wouldn’t and he’d have an excuse to avoid this entire fucked up family reunion.

He sipped at his drink, trying to focus on the burning liquid in this mouth, the holiday taste of the beverage, anything to keep his mind occupied. The last thing he wanted was to think back on all of the memories he kept tightly locked away. Thinking back on growing up, or how long – much like the twins - it’d just been him and his brother. Not that his brother had half the loyalty Pietro had towards his sister. None of that mattered though, not now, and it hadn’t mattered for a long time. Almost more than that, he didn’t want to think about the last time he saw his brother. For being the two of them against the world for so long, it hadn’t taken much before his brother decided he was only out for himself. 

Those thoughts were interrupted when the legs of the chair across from him scraped across the floor as it was tugged away from the table. Clint forced himself to look up to see his brother folding his lanky frame into the chair in question. For a moment the two stared at one another; Clint took in his brother’s familiar unkempt red hair and the black eye he was sporting, which fit together entirely with his memories of Barney and the fact that his brother couldn’t stay out of trouble. Then again, he probably wasn’t one to judge too harshly given that his arm remained stiff and half-impossible to use and there was still a brace on his ankle to help him walk. Really, it was sheer luck that he didn’t have a black eye to match his brother’s given how often he’d gotten his ass kicked over the past several months.

Barney’s initially appraising look shifted into a grin and he broke the silence with, “Hey, kid. Glad you could make it. Sorry I’m a little late.”

“I noticed. You never were good at telling time anyways. Good to know that hasn’t changed.”

“Not much has. It’s, uh, it’s good to see you, Clint.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Clint said automatically, only to realize that at least part of him actually meant the words. “It’s been awhile.”

_There you go, Barton, stating the obvious,_ he chided himself, but Barney only said, “Far too long. You’re looking good for a guy who was shot.”

“Thanks,” Clint said lightly. “Much appreciated. Wish I could reciprocate those words but you’re looking a little rough.”

“I had a bad night,” Barney said with a shrug. “You know how that goes.”

Did he ever. Not that Clint was prepared to divulge just how many bad nights he’d had over the years since he last saw his brother.

“Guess I do,” he said noncommittally. “Everything okay?”

“More or less. I’m still breathing so I can’t complain.”

An awkward silence fell. It wasn’t that Clint couldn’t think of anything to say, it was just that all of his immediate responses to that meant potentially letting Barney drag him down into his mess again. There was no doubt in Clint’s mind that asking more direct questions about what had happened would lead to him finding out information that would make him feel responsible, and because he had no goddamn sense of boundaries or self-preservation, he’d inevitably want to help. 

Thankfully, Barney seemed to recognize Clint’s inability to respond and didn’t press the matter. Instead, he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I’m a little jealous of that cuppa coffee you’re drinking. Thinking I might get one of my own. Any chance you could spare a dollar or two to feed my caffeine habit?”

“A dollar or two ain’t gonna get you one of these fancy drinks,” Clint responded, tugging a crumped $5 out of his pocket. “This should cover it though.”

“Whoa, look whose raking in the big bucks,” Barney said, accepting the offered money. “I was just aiming for some caffeine fix with any old brew but I’m all for treating myself if you’re offering.”

“Go for it,” Clint said with a shrug. “Seems the least I could do for my estranged family.”

He relaxed as Barney moved away, towards the counter, and immediately felt guilty. This was his brother and even with their whole fucked up history, Barney was the only family he had left. 

But just because he was family didn’t mean Clint needed him in his life. He knew that far too well, given his experiences with other family members. Now he had his own family and maybe they weren’t related by blood but they treated him a damn sight better than any of his actual family had. They didn’t hurt him.

Half of him wanted to jump to his feet and bolt – or, well, hobble – to the nearest door. It wouldn’t be too hard to just escape and pretend none of this ever happened. Natasha had the car in a parking lot just a block away. He could get out of here, call her if he had to, and be back on the road to DC before his brother even knew what happened.

Except for the small fact that he could already see Barney making his way through the crowd and back towards the table. While Clint still could have bolted, it felt unnecessarily cruel to do that in front of his brother. Instead, he stayed put and remained silent as Barney reclaimed his seat and took a long sip from the cup in his hand. 

Barney finally broke the silence by noting, “Y’know, this shit is overpriced but damned if there isn’t something about espresso that tastes just like eggnog. It’d be even better if there was some alcohol in it.”

Clint nodded noncommittally and tried to pretend that every muscle in his body wasn’t locking up in response to Barney’s words. There was no damn reason that the mention of Barney drinking made him feel sick to his stomach. It wasn’t as though Clint didn’t drink himself – or that his friends didn’t drink around him – and, hell, his brother had been the one who taught him to drink back when they were kids. Drinking with Barney hadn’t bothered him while they were growing up, even with their dad putting away a twelve pack a day and seeing how the alcohol changed him into a man who didn’t care who he hurt when he was angry – or maybe he’d never cared and the alcohol was just an excuse, Clint still didn’t know – but that was back when Barney still felt “safe” for him to be around. Now Barney was almost as far from safe as their dad had been and the thought of him drinking made him feel less trustworthy.

Just as Clint determined that he’d done everything he needed to do here - he’d met his brother, he’d said hello, he’d bought him coffee, and his responsibilities were done – Barney had to go and say something that threw Clint’s entire goal of finding a way to discreetly leave completely off. 

“Look, I asked you to come here because I wanted to be able to look you in the eye when I said this.” A deep breath prefaced the words, “I’m sorry.”

The irony was that Barney wasn’t looking him in the eye at the moment but rather down into his cup of overpriced coffee as though it held the answers to the universe. Clint, meanwhile, gaped at him. When he realized his mouth remained hanging open and that his brother was oblivious to his reaction, he closed it and took a few deep breaths of his own before speaking.

“You’re sorry. For what, exactly?”

Maybe it was kind of a dick move to make Barney work for this but there was no way Clint would consider accepting an apology without Barney taking at least some ownership for what he’d done. It wasn’t an apology if you only said sorry. That didn’t mean Barney realized what he’d done to hurt Clint. It didn’t mean Barney wouldn’t throw him under the bus once again.

“Everything, I guess,” Barney said a bit helplessly.

“That’s great,” he said, his voice bitter. “I mean, y’know, that covers a lot.”

“I know it does, alright, Clint? You want a detailed list. Fine. I’ll start at the beginning.” He finally looked up to meet Clint’s gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from Dad. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t try to stop him. I’m sorry I wasn’t the big brother you deserved. There. How’s that for starters?”

“That’s good,” Clint said, but didn’t stop there. “What else?”

“I’m sorry the same shit happened in our foster home. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you then and that I didn’t get us out sooner.” 

A knot of tension formed in Clint’s chest as he forced out the words, trying to sound as mocking as he felt. “Alright, now you’re getting somewhere. Anything else?”

“You know there is,” Barney said, and now he sounded angry. “I’m sorry for what happened afterwards.”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“Fine. I’m sorry for turning on you. I’m sorry, not for just failing to stop someone else from hurting you but actually helping them hurt you. I’m sorry for pretty much leaving you for dead. I’m sorry for all of it, okay? I’ve had a long time to think about this and remember each and every fucked up thing I did and didn’t do and I’m sorry for it all.”

By the time he finished speaking, he was breathing hard, and Clint realized that Barney wasn’t the only one in that state. The knot in his chest had increased, his breathing was ragged, and he was pretty much certain that the coffee had conspired to cause a heart attack given that his heart was pounding out of his chest. Beyond that, his muscles tensed, his hands curled into fists, as though he were preparing to fight. 

Putting a specific word to the emotion he felt was impossible – there was definitely anger, that was the easiest one, and he wished it started and stopped there, rather than shifting to other feelings like pain and sadness and fear and hope because those were dangerous emotions. Those were the types of feelings that might make him consider and reconsider his brother’s words and accept them, forgive him, and let him back in.

“Barney, I…” he started, more out of a need to speak before realizing that he had no idea what to say.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid,” Barney said quickly. “You don’t need to respond now. I know a dropped a lot on you.”

_That’s for sure,_ Clint thought but didn’t say. What he said was, “Yeah, you did. I’ve, uh, I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“So, how about we chat about something else?” Barney suggested. “You’re… uh… you’re a college boy now, right?”

“Something like that,” Clint agreed, relieved to be shifting to a safer topic.

“I know I said it before but seriously good for you. I always knew you’d make something out of yourself.”

_Was that when you were watching dad beat the shit out of me or when you left me for dead?_ Clint wondered and then immediately hated himself for letting his thoughts go to that place when Barney seemed to be trying so hard to make amends.

“I’m trying to,” was his verbal response. “I’d like to turn things around. See if I can have a life.” 

“Sounds like you’re on that path already,” Barney said. “Definitely doing better than me.” 

“Barney, what kinda trouble are you in?” Clint asked before he could swallow the words back. 

Immediately, he hated himself for that. Just because Barney apologized, because he said he wanted to change things between them, didn’t mean Clint had to take things to this level. He didn’t need to know what was happening with Barney because knowing would mean he had to act. He had enough shit of his own to deal with.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Barney said, as though recognizing the direction Clint’s thoughts were going in and sparing him from that position. “I can handle it.”

Clint had no doubt if he stayed there much longer, he was going to do something stupider than what he was about to, and so he ripped a piece off the coffee sleeve and pulled out a pen to jot down an address. He shoved that entire mess at Barney as he stumbled to his feet.

“Look, I need to be getting on the road if I wanna get back to DC tonight. You know how to reach me and… and if things get to the point where you can’t handle ‘em, here’s where to find me. Call me before you show up because the house ain’t exactly mine and Natasha doesn’t like surprises. But… if you need a safe place to stay, there’s nowhere safer.”

He didn’t wait to see Barney’s response, just grabbed his half-finished coffee and tugged his jacket on as he headed for the door. Already, he was cursing himself for his idiocy. Now Barney could find him. Now Barney could drag all of his shit right into Clint’s life again. Not just his life, but also Natasha’s and Sam’s and the twins were there and Jesus Christ, Clint hadn’t been thinking clearly when he made this decision.

A few deep breaths of the winter air froze his throat and gave him something else to focus on, at least; namely not asphyxiating. As he moved closer to where Natasha waited in the car, he reminded himself that he wouldn’t have to worry about any of that shit with his brother. 

Because the more he thought about what he’d just done, the more convinced he was that Natasha would kill him and put him out of his misery.


	40. In The End Everything Collides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the twins come to an important decision and experience their first New Year's Eve out in the city, Tony comes to a realization about Pepper, Natasha spends a quiet night in with her boys, and Bucky reflects on the past year and his relationship with Steve. 
> 
> In other words, the chapter where some things are resolved, some things are still left open, and hints towards the future are left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussions of child abuse and references to suicide.

“We need to talk.”

Pietro reluctantly paused Bioshock – a Hanukah present from Clint - and tossed the controller onto the coffee table before looking up at his sister. Wanda stood at the end of the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. He considered the events of the past several days, trying to come up with anything that could have led to this request, and then decided that acting preemptively was the right decision.

“What did I do?” 

While he couldn’t come up with any specific examples, it stood to reason that if Wanda were upset, it was likely due to something he’d done. 

“Nothing,” she quickly assured him. “Sorry, I probably should have led off with that. I was just… I’ve been thinking about some stuff. Some stuff that worried me and I wanted to talk through it with you.”

“What are you worried about?” he asked, a frown twisting his lips. “Things’ve been good lately.” 

“I know.” She took a seat and curled up against his side. “But we both know that can’t last and that we can’t keep living like this. For starters, innocent – well, sorta innocent people like Clint – keep getting hurt. Even if that weren’t on us, I don’t know about you but I’m sick of being constantly trapped in the house, only to go out to Shield. It’s not quite a prison but it’s not freedom either. I’m tired of living like this, always in fear of Talbot finding us, and having no life because of that. It doesn’t feel like we beat him, Pietro. It feels like he’s still the one winning.”

The problem was, Pietro supposed, that she was right. He hated this feeling of not having escaped, of still being trapped, of just having traded in one prison for another. He hated feeling like he’d been caged and as though this was and would always be his life. Some part of him always believed that once they were 18 everything would change. While in some respects it had – they were living in a house, they had all the food they needed, he was even dating Darcy – in many other ways there weren’t any significant differences.

Which infuriated him and may have led to his tone of voice when he snapped, “What other choice do we have? Talbot’s already got the Russians looking for us. He’s got eyes everywhere. We can’t go back on the streets. Even if he doesn’t find us immediately, I’m not going back to that life.” 

“Fine. What if it weren’t going back onto the street? What if it was just going out like normal people? Not keeping ourselves isolated?”

“Like I said, he’ll find us. He’ll have us back in a day or less.” 

“Will he?” Wanda challenged. “Or is that just what he wants us to think?”

Pietro’s heart jumped into overdrive – which was stupid, so fucking stupid, he wasn’t even in danger right now – and he tried to slow it, and his racing thoughts, to a manageable level but all he could think of was what Talbot would do to them, how he would punish them, whether they would even survive it this time.

“I’m not going back with him, Wanda,” he snarled. “I’ll kill myself before I let that happen.”

At that, she recoiled so far and so fast she nearly fell off the couch. Pietro felt disgusted with himself as he caught her eyes fill with tears. Immediately, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her, one hand coming up to smooth back her hair.

His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You know I’d never leave you.” 

“You’d better not. You know I’d go right after you.”

He flinched at the mere thought. That had been a constant fear when they were trapped with Talbot, especially as things worsened. At the beginning, Talbot had been too afraid of the potential repercussions to cause any significant injury or damage to either of them. As time went on, that changed. The last couple of times he lost control – the last one, the one that made them finally find a way out, in particular – and Pietro knew he’d been lucky to still be breathing by the end, especially the one time his ribs had been cracked and every breath ached. There had been too many times of waking up in bed days later in enough pain that the heavy duty drugs couldn’t mask it all, with Wanda sitting beside him and holding his hand, her face pale and eyes sunken from too many days without sleep. 

One of those times, in a remarkably cruel moment, Talbot had refused to let Wanda see her brother and told her that he was dead. He could still remember Talbot kneeling beside him, telling Pietro how he was going to break Wanda by telling her that he’d died of his injuries. Pietro had tried to stop him, tried to fight back despite the fact that he already had a broken arm and ribs, and ended up half-conscious with a fractured jaw for his efforts. He’d been just aware enough to hear Wanda screaming, to catch the sounds of a scuffle, and even though he knew he’d lost some time around then, she’d still been screaming through it all.

What was the most terrifying was when she stopped screaming and everything went silent.

No one was there to stop Pietro from stumbling to his feet and leaving his room. A part of him still wondered if Talbot meant for him to die as a result of his injuries; he certainly hadn’t done anything to patch him up or sent a doctor in to make sure he wasn’t bleeding internally. Pietro had made his way to her room, only to find it locked from the outside with no key in sight. After a few moments of pounding on the door and screaming for her – and barely hearing her sobbing his name in response – he’d done considerably more damage to himself breaking the door down with any part of his body he could use. 

Inside, the room had been torn apart and Wanda had shown a comparable lack of concern for herself, given that there was blood smeared everywhere from where she’d opened up cuts on her hands and arms trying to break through the all but bulletproof windows and claw through the door. Her face was bruised as well, in a way Talbot always staunchly avoided previously because unlike Pietro, he seemed intent on keeping her pretty.

The two had clung to one another, Wanda sobbing against his shoulder, his one working arm wrapped around her until the medical staff showed up and tried to separate them. He’d had to beg Wanda not to fight them, had to make them promise not to take her away from him, and he was pretty sure in the end they’d both been tranquilized, which he now acknowledged was for the best because he later discovered that between the blood loss and injuries and shock, if he hadn’t received medical treatment then, Talbot’s words would have come true.

That was the first time Wanda told him that if he died, she’d follow after. He was lucky she hadn’t, given that she’d clawed Talbot’s face and damaged one of his eyes in the process. Apparently Talbot cared more about torturing her with the thought of Pietro being dead, given that he’d only hurt her enough to throw her in her room and lock her inside because otherwise there was no answer for why he’d left her alive after she’d done something like that to him.

That was also when Pietro promised himself he’d never let Talbot take things that far again. Not for his own sake but for Wanda’s. He didn’t care as much about himself and probably should have been more frightened of the idea of death than he was. Somehow that didn’t scare him half as much as the thought of his sister no longer being alive. 

“Pietro?” 

Wanda’s voice tugged him back to the present. There was a distinct pang of guilt as he caught the worry in her eyes and realized he must have gone silent for far longer than intended.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I was just…” 

There he stopped. He didn’t want to tell Wanda where his mind had gone, though she could probably gather enough to get the general idea.

Her brow furrowed and she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I don’t like it when you talk like that.” 

“I’m the one who started it,” he pointed out as she drew back. “You don’t need to be apologizing. Alright. So… so you think we should be pretending that nothing is wrong and we’re not in danger and just go about living our lives as though Talbot will actually stop looking for us one day.” 

“I mean, I’m not saying we should go on TV and let him know exactly where we’re staying,” she said. “I’m just tired of living in constant fear and letting that control our every action. I want to go out in the city. I don’t want to hide every time someone comes into Shield. What’s the point of working so hard to change our appearances if we’re just going to keep hiding?”

He had to admit at least a part of that made sense. An idea formed in his mind, brought on by this conversation and an offer from Darcy the previous night when she’d called to discuss plans for New Year’s Eve and indicated she’d like to spend the night with him.

“Darcy did offer to take us out to the clubs tonight,” he said slowly. “I’d kinda left it as, ‘I’ll think about it’ but maybe I should just tell her yes, seeing as we probably need tickets and that sorta shit.” 

“But a club…” Wanda started a bit warily. “A club means they card and we don’t have IDs.”

He frowned in response to that realization and then sighed and said, “I’ll talk to Darcy about that. See if she has any ideas. Not that we’re gonna be able to scrounge up some fake IDs before tonight.”

“And I’ll talk to Clint and Natasha,” Wanda offered. “I figure given everything they’ve done, they deserve to know what we’re thinking of doing.”

Pietro nodded, despite the fact that while discussing all of this with Wanda, it had seemed well and good to consider exercising more freedom. The thought of Clint and Natasha being consulted made him aware that maybe they would find themselves in a different version of the same situation as before: trapped in a house where they couldn’t leave. If those type of restrictions were placed on them, he had no idea how long he’d manage to stay. 

With those rules being more unspoken, particularly over the past month or so, he’d been able to live in the illusion of being able to leave the house if he so chose without any consequences. What if that was not the case? Would they have to run away again? Would it be better to be on the street and have no food, safety, or place to live or to stay here and not have the freedom to come and go as they pleased?

His mind was moving too far ahead; he recognized that much. If those situations came about, he and Wanda would discuss things and make a decision together, just as they always had. But there was no evidence they’d have to run, that they were in the type of situation they’d need to escape from again, and thinking that might be the case wasn’t going to help anything.

Instead, he offered Wanda a half-smile. “I’ll see about getting Darcy on the phone now.”

“I’ll see if Nat and Clint are awake yet or at least if I can bribe them with coffee,” Wanda said, and then hugged him again. “We’ll figure it out, Pietro. Please don’t worry. I never meant to make you worry.”

“I know. It’s not your fault. I just… I started thinking about stuff. Stuff I would’ve rather never thought about again.” 

“No matter what, remember that whatever we do is our choice. Just keep that in mind. Before we let Darcy know what we’re thinking, how about I talk to Natasha and Clint first? Just to make sure we’re on the same page or whether we need to reconsider stuff.”

Wanda got to her feet, pausing long enough to ruffle his hair, before heading up the stairs. Pietro tried to keep that reminder of how much choice they had now compared to what they used to have first and foremost in his head as he settled back on the couch and resumed his earlier game. Still, it was hard to consider the crossroads they were nearing and what would be coming next. 

He hoped that the recent peace and safety they’d experienced wouldn’t be coming to an end any time soon.

-~-

It was New Year’s Eve’s day – and wasn’t that a mouthful – and Tony was not only stone cold sober but remembered the events of the past couple of days. Now that was something that hadn’t happened in the past couple of years and he wasn’t quite certain whether it was a good thing or a not so good thing. On the plus side, he’d managed to get quite a bit of work done over the past week and was reasonably certain Pepper would be glad to see that – not to mention relieved he hadn’t imploded – and had plenty of time left over to spend out of the lab and with Rhodey, who’d stubbornly remained nearby despite Tony’s insistence he spend some time with his family during the holidays.

Still, given his good behavior, he deserved a night out and a night out to remember. The hardest part would be to sift through the various invitations he’d received over the past year – and maybe also review the list of places he’d been banned from going – to decide where he’d spend his New Year’s Eve celebrating. He felt reasonably certain he’d stay in the city for the time being but there was always the option of flying elsewhere if he decided one of those locations would make for a better evening of fun.

With a cup of coffee in his hand, he settled himself in front of his computer set up. “Hey, JARVIS. Any chance you could cross-reference the New Year’s Eve invitations I’ve gotten with the places I’ve been banned and then analyze each location for maximum fun?” 

“Should I also cross-reference your indecent exposure charges and any newspaper articles written about previous incidents?” JARVIS inquired.

“Sure, might help with narrowing down the list,” Tony said easily, sifting through the papers on his desk to see if there was anything pressing he hadn’t gone through yet.

He’d recently received a rather excellently written plan from Steve to go along with the report of how Shield had done financially over the past year. Given how many employees they’d gained and lost over that time, not to mention how many had been employed but unable to work at various times throughout the year, Tony had to admit he’d been pleasantly surprised to see that the deficit wasn’t as great as he’d feared. Although they’d had all of those setbacks, the damage hadn’t been as extensive as it would have been if it were not for the reputation the shop maintained, given that the number of customers who came in had helped to balance everything. Sure, they’d barely come close to breaking even – well, a little under – but things could’ve been a lot worse.

Plus, Steve had designed a rather ingenious plan for making up for all of that in the next year. While part of that plan required Tony to put a little extra into the shop, namely to set up at least a third office and maybe consider a fourth, Steve had designed a schedule for himself, Clint, and Barnes that looked, at least from what Tony could see, like it would definitely serve to bolster the financial stability of the shop. Plus, Steve had stated he planned to look for either another piercist or tattoo artist, depending on what the needs of the shop appeared to be over the next month once everyone was back at work. If it seemed that they had more clients looking for tattoos than Steve and Clint could manage with their schedules, they’d look for a third to help them out. If it was Bucky who was getting slammed, he might be getting a second piercist.

Steve took the time to work both his class schedule and Clint’s into the schedule, as well as factoring in extra time Clint might need off to manage his incompletes from the previous semester, and also factored in a certain number of sick days for each of them. When the numbers were all settled, Tony could see that there was a chance for considerable profit, even allowing for the potential that something unexpected happened again. 

Tony mostly just appreciated the time Steve had taken to draft this report and plan for the following year. While financing the shop had been a bit of an impulse – and Steve had also taken the moment to remind Tony that he still hadn’t requested the tattoo he’d sworn was his entire motivation for financing the shop – the idea of actually making a profit had never crossed his mind. He was more interested in seeing whether Steve’s talents could translate to tattooing and, hell, if he were to be honest with himself, it had been a way to keep Steve in his orbit, regardless of how horrifically that plan turned out.

Maybe he would consider talking to Steve about his tattoo one of these days. Despite his original words to Steve, he’d never really strongly considered what type of design he might want to wear on his body for the rest of his life. Now that things between him and Steve were smoothing out, at least a little bit – and they totally had to be, after all, Tony had apologized so maybe by now Steve would have accepted it - it might be worth sitting down with him and seeing what the two of them could come up with.

Any further thoughts on this matter were silenced when JARVIS said, “Miss Potts is on her way down, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony frowned and glanced at the calendar, unable to remember if he’d been certain she was coming back today or if that had just been wishful thinking on his part. Either way, she was on her way now and he still hadn’t opened that present from her. Shit. That was a mistake. He doubted she’d be particularly thrilled with him for that but when was she thrilled with him for anything?

He pushed himself back from his desk, trying to remember which corner he’d left the package in and wondering whether he might, by some miracle, be able to open it before she stepped inside the room. Naturally, before he do much else, the door opened and she stepped inside. As always, despite the fact that she technically wasn’t on duty, she was dressed professionally. He had to wonder if she’d wear the same sort of outfit if they went out together.

A thought he quickly tried to shove from his mind as he greeted her. “Hey, Pepper. Wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you until after the New Year.”

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” she said. “You appear to be sober and nothing’s on fire, so already things are better than they could be.”

“Just you wait, it’s still early.” He offered her a grin and got to his feet. “I’m fine, Pepper. I told you everything would be okay and it was. No major public fuckups. I barely had more than a beer at any point while you were gone. Not only that but I caught up on all of my work. You’ll be amazed when you see how much I cleared out.”

“Consider me impressed. I’m glad to hear it.”

She glanced around and he got the sense there was something she was waiting for. Something that was likely the still wrapped present. All at once Tony found himself utterly exasperated, either with her or himself, he couldn’t even discern which. A present like that, it meant something, and if he opened it, that would mean something too. 

Something more than what he could handle, maybe. Clearly it was time to change the topic.

“So, you’re back.” The obvious statement earned him the slightest eye roll from Pepper. “That’s good. You have any plans for tonight?”

“Tony, we’ve talked about this…” she pointed out, though something about her tone made him wonder if her heart were really into arguing. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to go out with you when I’m also employed by you.”

“But you don’t know,” he said, seizing upon that part of the argument. “If you don’t know, then it might be okay.”

“I came out with you to Natasha’s for support,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not as a date. You know that.”

“I do. I could use some support tonight. It’s New Year’s. I tend to make bad decisions on New Year’s. Having you there would help to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Now you’re being manipulative,” she sighed. “Tony…”

“You’re right. I’m totally being manipulative and that’s why I need you around to call me out on my shit.” He was quiet for a moment before he admitting, “You keep me on track, Pepper. You don’t take my bullshit at face value. Even though if I took something wrong, I could fire you, you tell everything to me straight and I appreciate that. There haven’t been a lot of people in my life willing to challenge me. Not like you do.”

Pepper gave him a long, discerning look and then nodded. “Alright, I’ll come with you tonight.” 

Her willingness completely caught him off-guard and before he could stop himself, he found himself blurting out, “You will?”

“I will. It’s still not a date but I’ll come with you. If it really will keep you on the straight and narrow, then it’s something I’m willing to do.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and there was enough gratitude in his voice that he felt vaguely sick for expressing that much. “I’ll pick you up around 5?”

“That works. It’ll give me time to unpack and get myself organized. You’ll also be sober when you show up. If we’re going out to drink, you are not pregaming. I will not be responsible for being a party to another holiday trainwreck.” 

“Understood,” he agreed, a bit reluctantly. “No alcohol until we go out. Heard loud and clear.” 

She nodded, looking pleased. Then, as professional as ever, she asked, “Is that all, Mr. Stark?”

“That’s all, Miss Potts,” he returned. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“And perhaps in another few days, you can catch me up with your all the progress you made over the holidays. I’ll see you tonight, Tony.” 

He watched as she walked out, before flinging himself back in his chair and sighing.

“That was dramatic, sir,” JARVIS commented. 

“Stuff it, JARVIS. Where did I leave Pepper’s present?” 

He hadn’t quite meant for his question to go into that direction. He didn’t particularly want to know what she’d bought him because that meant accepting the gift. Then again, she would probably ask him about it that evening and how could he possibly justify not having opened it by that point?

“It’s under the third table to the right of you,” JARVIS informed him.

“Excellent.” Tony pushed himself to his feet and wandered in that direction, eventually tracking down the wrapped present he’d slid under there. 

It seemed innocuous enough. After all, it was just a present. How bad could it be? Presents weren’t supposed to be bad things, after all, and this was from Pepper who he actually legitimately liked and seemed to like him despite his constant fuckups. He slowly untied the ribbon, telling himself that it was only because he wanted to respect the time she’d taken to wrap it, not because he was stalling for time, and then did the same with the wrapping paper itself.

Finally, there was no choice left except to open the box. He did so tentatively, as though he expected a bomb or wild animal to be lurking inside. When he finally had the object on the table in front of him, he stared at it, trying to determine whether it was much, much worse than the potential threatening objects that could have been lurking in there. 

It was a leather-bound boo. As he creaked it open, he could see that it was filled like a scrapbook. Except this scrapbook seemed to entirely be articles about his work over the past few years, carefully fitted onto the pages. There was the article about his prosthetic program for veterans, in addition to pictures of him receiving various awards for that work. There were articles on his steps made to create more efficient clean energy and so many other things that he could barely even remember doing at this point. The pages went on and on. When he finally reached the end, he couldn’t quite figure out how he felt. 

A glance in the box showed him that there was no card waiting for him and, really, that was probably a good thing. Tony didn’t need Pepper to make this message any more specific than she already had. He got the point. She could see the things about him that he tried to keep everyone from seeing. She knew his secret and that probably made her dangerous. 

At the same time, there was a vague sense of relief. He didn’t need to pretend to be someone else around her, if she already knew. 

Tony didn’t need to pretend that he didn’t care.

-~-

As far as Jane was concerned, this holiday was the most beautiful one she’d experienced in a long, long time. She’d woken up on her own without an alarm going off, curled up against Thor’s chest, warm and comfortable with his arms and the blankets wrapped around her. She could tell he was already awake, and might have been for awhile, given that his fingers were curving through her hair and for a few minutes, she just focused on how comfortable and content she felt and how her head rose the slightest bit with each breath he took in.

This was the first day since the incident with Loki that things felt remotely calm. Between Jane continuing to juggle dissertation research and work and Thor navigating holidays spent with his family, things had been tense, and the two of them had spent less time with one another than either one of them preferred. Now though, they had two days all to themselves, without anything intruding. 

Every time she relaxed though, reminders of Loki came into her head. The situation with him felt far from resolved. In those first few days after the confrontation, Thor made sure to keep Jane separate from Loki as much as possible. At first, she’d felt a bit insulted, as though she were playing the damsel-in-distress, but then she recognized that it wasn’t as though Thor was ready to face his brother either, given that he stayed almost exclusively at her apartment or with her at work. She also had to admit that there was a greater likelihood of Loki taking revenge on her than she would like to consider. Jane didn’t need that in her life, what with her dissertation, teaching, and work at the coffee shop going on.

When Christmas Eve dinner came along, the chance of avoiding Loki diminished significantly, especially given that Thor’s father returned to the city right at that time. Thor gave Jane the option to join him and his family and she accepted. While she’d hoped to see her family over the holidays, with everything else going on that hadn’t been feasible. Even a dinner spent with Loki seemed a better option than sitting alone in her studio apartment. 

At least that was what she’d thought until meeting Thor and Loki’s parents. Given how warm and friendly Thor appeared, it was hard to imagine that he’d been raised by the man sitting in front of them, who was cold and curt and filled the room with tension and discomfort. Jane found herself tucked between Thor and Loki, with Thor’s hand in her own, as Loki studiously avoided looking in her direction. Thankfully, Loki and Thor’s mother was the direct opposite of her husband, making the meal somewhat bearable. Still, given how much Loki and Thor’s father’s presence made her feel on edge, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had led to Loki being the way he was now.

Not that an explanation excused anything Loki had done. Still, figuring out what could be at least part of the answer to the problem of Loki made her feel better. She preferred to know what led things to develop. Once you had a cause and effect, you could understand the situation and create change as possible. 

Then again, people were much more complicated than a scientific model or study.

That wasn’t what she wanted to be thinking about today though. Today was her day to spend with Thor and enjoy their time together. The evening would be spent with others, celebrating the holiday, but the day was theirs without any interruptions. Be those interruptions her thoughts drifting in unpleasant directions or the more pressing concern of the phone on her nightstand starting to ring.

_No interruptions_ , she insisted to herself as she stubbornly buried her face against Thor’s chest and groaned.

Thor’s voice held a sleepy, gravely rasp as he said, “You could just let it ring.”

“I should,” she agreed, making no effort to reach for it. “I will.”

Despite the multitude of days she’d woken up in this exact position, the novelty definitely hadn’t worn off. It still felt as amazing as the first time to wake up with Thor laying in bed beside – or, in this case, partially under – her. Something about his presence provided an added layer of calm to her usually frenetic days, which she noticed whenever she had to leave him. She still wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about that – despite the fact that it instinctively felt like a good thing, it was also a change – but there was something to be said about feeling more calm and stable.

Though that calmness and stability dissipated when the phone rang again. With a sigh, she leaned over to answer it and was greeted with a far too excited, far too familiar voice. In the grand scheme of things, at least, having Darcy determined to get ahold of her wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

“Hey, Jane. Sorry to wake you up, if I woke you up. I’ve missed you. How’ve the holidays been? It feels like forever. Has it been forever?” 

“Hi, Darcy,” Jane cut in, before she could go any further. “You didn’t wake me up. I’ve been good, the holidays have been good, and it hasn’t been forever. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been great,” Darcy said cheerfully. “I just got back into town. Figured I’d touch base with you about tonight. See if you were still up for hitting up the clubs with Thor.”

“I thought it was club, not clubs,” Jane said a bit warily. “And, yes, unless your side of the plan has changed, my plans have stayed the same. Still planning on hitting up the club with Thor this evening.”

“Good,” Darcy said, and then she paused. “That’s really good.”

And then there was silence. Jane immediately found herself concerned. Darcy didn’t go silent. Darcy, if anything, never stopped talking long enough for Jane to respond to her. The first time they met several semesters back – when Jane was informed that the dark-haired Poli Sci major was her new lab assistant – Jane hadn’t quite known what to make of her. Not to mention she’d been rather frustrated to have been given an assistant who knew absolutely nothing about her field of study.

Still, Darcy had surprised her by bouncing off ideas Jane never would have thought of on her and after a few months of working together, Jane found that she appreciated Darcy’s presence. After the position ended, Darcy found reasons to continue to hang around the lab and the coffee shop – which Jane assumed might have had something to do with free caffeine fix offered. 

In all of that time though, Jane couldn’t remember any time Darcy remained silent for this long.

“Darcy, is everything okay?” she asked a bit hesitantly.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Darcy said, and then breathlessly blurted out, “There’s just something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’ve been seeing this guy for awhile now and he’s going to be there tonight and I just… I didn’t want to surprise you with him. He’s a really great guy and I like him a lot and I… I don’t know. I didn’t know how to explain why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Okay,” Jane said slowly. 

That was a bit weird, especially for Darcy who’d never hesitated before telling her about the guys in her life before. That even included the awfully embarrassing first dates or one-night stands that had gone disastrously. For her to be closed off about him raised some red flags for Jane.

When Darcy said nothing, she followed up with, “What’s he like?”

“I met him at the shop,” Darcy said. “He’s nice, kinda snarky but overall good. He’s just… his life hasn’t exactly been easy, y’know? It’s complicated and I’m not going to tell you all of his business.”

“But he treats you well?”

“Oh yeah,” Darcy said, as though she couldn’t even begin to understand why Jane would have questioned something like that. “He’s not like that, like you’re worrying about, or anything. That’s not why I didn’t tell you. You’ll see when you meet him. Just… just be nice to him. This is his first time going out to the clubs in DC, so he might be a little overwhelmed.”

“Is he from the suburbs or country or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Darcy said, once again evasive in her answer. “His sister is coming along, too. Don’t worry about three being a crowd, they’re twins and they’re close and, yes, it’s probably a little weird but not as weird as it sounds.”

Jane glanced at Thor and then uncertainly said, “If you’re sure, then me and Thor are fine with it. The more the merrier, right? .”

Thor shot her a confused look in response to that. She mouthed, ‘I’ll tell you in a moment, I promise.’

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Darcy said, sounding relieved. “Awesome. Alright. I guess we’ll see you in a few hours.”

Jane said her goodbyes before hanging up and informing Thor of the content of the phone call. Before she’d gotten in more than a few words, she trailed off into apologies for not asking him for his opinion before agreeing to Darcy’s request. 

“It’s fine, Jane,” Thor assured her. “Darcy is your friend and I am more than happy to have her, her boyfriend, and his sister come along.”

“It’s just… it’s so weird,” Jane said. “Probably not the weirdest thing that’s happened recently but this entire relationship has been so unlike Darcy. Usually she’s telling me everything and this time, up until today, she hadn’t even been clear with me that she has a boyfriend. It makes me worry about her and what might be going on that she feels she needs to hide.”

“From what I’ve seen of her, Darcy would not have remained silent if she were in that position.”

“That’s what you always think though,” Jane argued. “But it can happen to anyone. I just… she swears that it’s not like that. I hope she’s telling the truth. I guess I’ll have a better sense once I meet this guy and see what he’s like and what their relationship is like as well.”

“Try not to worry about that until then,” Thor said. “For now, since we’re up, what are your thoughts on breakfast?”

She considered the options: going out was always a possibility and meant not having to cook but that also meant getting ready and dressed and that wasn’t quite what she wanted to do on this morning. 

“I was thinking breakfast in bed.”

Thor pressed a kiss to her lips. “I think I can manage that.” 

Jane allowed the thoughts and worries about Darcy to seep away for the moment. She’d promised herself that she would reserve this part of the day 100% for her and Thor and nothing was going to detract from that. If there was something going on with Darcy and her boyfriend, she’d discover that tonight and deal with it accordingly.

Though now that she thought of it, Darcy hadn’t even mentioned her boyfriend’s name…

-~-

Clint hadn’t told Natasha yet.

He hadn’t told Natasha about what he’d done, about handing Barney the address to her house, and that odds were in favor of his brother showing up completely unannounced one day. Not only had he not told her, he hadn’t told the twins either, despite the fact that his brother could bring trouble straight to the doorstep and make things even worse for them.

If asked, he couldn’t have identified his reasons for silence. The arrival of his brother seemed unavoidable, inevitable, and maybe, just maybe Natasha wouldn’t be quite so angry if she knew about it sooner rather than later. Clearly though, in the back of his mind, he’d convinced himself that Barney wouldn’t follow through. Maybe he’d lose the address. Maybe things wouldn’t get to that point. Maybe everything would be fine.

No, if Clint were to be honest, he would admit that his hesitation didn’t stem from the inevitable murder Natasha would commit when Barney showed up. It was more-so that if he were to tell her about that part, she might ask other questions about that meeting and the topics discussed and that, more than anything, was what he wasn’t ready to discuss. Why had he ever thought that meeting up with Barney would help him put things behind him? Instead he’d experienced the exact opposite. 

All he’d discovered was that nothing was behind him. The visit only served to dredge up everything he hadn’t thought about in years and make all of those feelings of betrayal fresh and raw and painful. Barney was the same as he’d always been and maybe Clint hadn’t exactly grown himself, but he’d never done the sorts of things Barney had done. He’d never betrayed his brother. Obviously he never would, seeing as his reaction to meeting his brother was to give him a place to stay.

It wasn’t exactly helping to have the twins out and about for the first time since he’d picked them up at the police station those months back. When the two of them had approached him and Natasha that morning, he’d wanted to say no, to insist that they’d stay in, but he’d also recognized that preventing their mobility and keeping them locked inside wasn’t exactly fair either. They were 18 and able to make decisions for themselves. If they wanted to go out, that was their choice to make.

Although he’d left the final word on the matter to Natasha; it was her house and if the twins did attract trouble, it would go right back to her doorstep.

Just like Barney would bring his own trouble in her direction if he followed through with the address Clint gave him.

Instead, he’d just stepped back and watched Natasha prepare the twins for their evening out. There was a reasonable level of certainty that they wouldn’t be recognized - after all they were older now, their hair was different, and before they’d left, the house, Natasha carefully dressed both of them and added make-up to their faces. Pietro initially refused the makeup on principle until she’d promised him that eyeliner and lipstick wouldn’t be included and her only intention was to change the contours of his face enough that recognition might be a bit more difficult. He’d eventually accepted and by the time the two of them left, Clint wasn’t certain he’d recognize Pietro or Wanda if he’d seen them out and about. 

He’d also watched Natasha hand each of them a fake ID with the names Anna and Peter Smith. While completely different names would probably have been safer, both he and Natasha were aware from the break-in that their Americanized names had been their go to in the past. Unbeknownst to him, Natasha had apparently prepared some fake IDs for this exact type of situation. Another small touch had been to change their birthdates to November 1st, again in the hopes of throwing anyone off just enough without placing the twins in a difficult position if they ever did slip up. After all, as she had explained, it wouldn’t be too hard for them to lie through their teeth if they rattled off the wrong birthday and just say that they always said October 31st because it was cooler to have been born on Halloween than the day after. The final touch had been a burner phone for each of them with any and all necessary contact numbers in case something did happen.

Still, everyone staying in the house was worried to the point where it influenced the overall atmosphere and mood. Clint kept reminding himself that DC would be packed on a party night like this, making it much less likely anyone would look twice at the twins. On the other hand, with the more information he gathered from Coulson and his own experiences keeping an ear to the ground, there were quite a few different branches of different mobs looking for them. With that many eyes on lookout, it seemed inevitable that something would happen, if not this night then a night in the future. Because Clint had no doubt that after their first taste of freedom, the twins would be heading out more and more frequently.

It didn’t help that they were staying inside. Typically by this point on New Year’s Eve, Natasha could be counted on to be at the first of many parties going on throughout the night. At least that was the sense Clint had gotten from her reputation in many circles, though the previous year hadn’t exactly been a normal year with everything going on with Barnes. Clint knew there had been plenty of invitations to choose from and, hell, both he and Sam had received enough of their own, but every discussion focused on making plans had ended inconclusively. Especially with the twins to think of, it had just seemed to make more sense to stay inside, though with the twins’ decision to head out themselves, they probably could’ve looked into one of the earlier invitations. After all, it was New Year’s Eve and no one expected you to RSVP.

Though with the twins out and about, it made sense for them to stay in one central place where they could be reached if anything went down. Plus knowing Clint’s luck, if he’d opted to go out to a few of the parties, he’d be lucky to not end up running into the mob because fuck his life. Besides, while Sam had been doing better since the three of them reconnected and reestablished their relationship, Clint could see the continued dark circles around his eyes. Between his own nightmares and Sam’s, sleep hadn’t exactly been consistent over the past few weeks. Staying in seemed to be the best choice for the time being, even if it didn’t offer enough distractions to keep Clint’s mind off of unfortunate topics.

“You seem preoccupied, Barton,” Sam commented as he shoved a drink into Clint’s hand. Clint accepted eagerly and drained it in one long sip before he registered that it had been primarily made out of vodka, judging by the burning in his throat and stomach.

Once he finished coughing and choking, he managed to rasp out, “Sorry. I was just thinkin’ about the twins. Just hoping they’re having a good night out painting the town red. Or not so red. Staying out of trouble, I mean.” 

A hand – Natasha’s, if he weren’t mistaken – rested on the small of his back, rubbing gently until his breathing evened out. “They’ll be fine, Clint. We did everything we could to prepare them.”

“Plus it’s natural to be worried about your kids,” Sam chimed in, placing another drink into Clint’s hand. “Sip on this one a bit more slowly, man. We don’t need you shitfaced or throwing up everywhere this early into the night.”

“They’re not my kids,” Clint pointed out. “I don’t have kids. I’d be a terrible father. No thank you. Not at all.”

Natasha offered him a sly smile as she knocked back her drink with much less – meaning no – gasping and choking. “Sure they are, Clint. They’re your strays. You took them in and now they’re yours. Just like having kids.”

“No,” he argued. “It’s like Lucky. Like adopting a pet. You feed it and give it a safe place to sleep and that’s all. Not my kids. Just… just kids that I’ve taken in. Plus they’re 18 now so they’re not even kids anymore.”

Sam and Natasha exchanged a look that Clint felt should have offended him more than it did. With the two of them ganging up on him, there was little point in continuing to argue, especially when Natasha’s hand – still resting on his back – slowly moved up to his shoulders and lightly rubbed at the knotted up muscles there. 

“You’re so tense,” she murmured. “Seems to me like we should do something about that. What do you think, Sam?”

Sam tilted his head and looked contemplative. Then, without any preamble, he tangled his fingers in Clint’s hair and lightly tugged him into a kiss. Natasha’s fingers worked their way to the back of his neck and he really didn’t mean to moan into Sam’s mouth but everything felt so good and either Natasha’s hands or Sam’s lips were magic or the alcohol was unclenching all of his muscles and it felt so goddamn good. He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until now and damn if he wasn’t looking forward to relaxing.

“I think he’s in need of some good R&R,” Sam agreed as he drew back. “Might be a good thing we’ve got the house to ourselves this evening.”

“Glad we’re on the same wavelength,” Natasha murmured, her breath ghosting against Clint’s neck as she leaned in to nuzzle at him. “Seems to me all of us could use some R&R after the past couple of weeks.”

“Or months,” Clint managed, when he could finally find his voice. 

“Or months,” Natasha agreed, though her not-so-light nip to his throat made him wonder if she appreciated the reminder of how long things had been going poorly.

It had been a long time, though if he were to be honest, things had been messed up for him for much longer than that. Somewhere in-between that thought crossing his mind and registering that Natasha was tugging off his shirt and Sam was guiding him down to the couch he stopped worrying about that. It was much more pleasant to focus on trying not to be overly loud while Sam left what were sure to be rather prominent marks on his stomach and chest, particularly as his lips moved down towards Clint’s hips. He wasn’t quite sure whose idea it was for Natasha to take a body shot off of him but he definitely wasn’t arguing as her tongue lapped the remaining vodka off his body.

Things really weren’t that bad. How could they be when he was bringing in the New Year with not one but two people he loved?

-~-

Wanda loved to dance. 

Not that there had been many opportunities in her life to do so, at least not after the fire that claimed her adoptive mother’s life. Before that, things had been different. Both Wanda and Pietro had many opportunities available to them and in Wanda’s case, those opportunities included dancing lessons. She’d latched onto those almost immediately, loving the freedom of the movement. 

But after Talbot’s wife died, dancing lessons had been off the table. Dancing itself became an activity that was forbidden. Dancing reminded Talbot too much of his wife. The fact that Wanda still wanted to dance after what she’d done… after her role in her adoptive mother’s death… was just an insult.

So Wanda had only danced in the privacy of her room, her footsteps light to prevent Talbot from hearing, and only to the music in her own head. She’d practiced the steps learned those years ago while in lessons. She’d started by training her body to follow those before relaxing into those remembered songs and letting her movements flow in whichever direction they wanted. 

As things at home became worse and worse, her attempts at dancing became less and less frequent, just one of many things Talbot managed to take from her. Particularly after receiving word from the boarding school he’d sent them to that she wanted to take lessons there, he’d watched her much more closely. With his temper at such a high level and his frequent targeting of her brother, she’d avoided anything that much push him over the edge. Saying “fuck you” to him by dancing when she knew he didn’t want her to was only worth so much if it ended with him trying to murder her brother. 

After they ran, dancing was a luxury she couldn’t afford. When she could barely eat one meal a day, those were calories she couldn’t risk burning. She needed that energy for running or fighting. Given that she never knew when that might be necessary, she couldn’t waste it on dancing. Even now, with a safe place to stay, she hadn’t allowed herself to indulge in that activity.

But tonight that was all she was doing. The music in the club wasn’t exactly the sort she’d practiced to in the past but that didn’t matter. The bass pulsed through the dance floor and all Wanda needed to do was let her body go and follow the movement. The flashing lights were disorienting at first, moving in time to the music, but now she didn’t care. She welcomed it. It felt chaotic on some level but that was okay. She and everyone else on the floor were experiencing the same thing and there was something nice, something powerful about that. 

At first, she’d been worried about whether she would stand out, being on her own in the middle of the club. Actual couples seemed to be few and far between, though the ones there were – including her brother and Darcy – were definitely making a show of their affection for one another. For that reason, she’d pointedly avoided looking in their direction as often as she could, given that by her assessment, the only thing that indicated to her that they were not having sex on the dance floor was the fact that they still had clothes on.

On the other hand, the second couple she was spending the night with – Thor and Jane – seemed much tamer in comparison. Wanda still hadn’t sorted out how she felt about them and they seemed to be uncertain of how to feel about Wanda and her brother. In particular, she found Jane shooting indecipherable looks at her brother throughout the night, although her expression had softened as the evening wore on. 

So caught up in the music, she startled when the song ended – or at least she thought it did, it was hard when each song seemed to bleed into the next one – and a hand rested on her shoulder. She flinched and immediately a familiar voice apologized.

“Sorry, Anna,” Pietro said – or, more appropriately, yelled over the music. “Me and Darcy were going to grab a drink.”

He didn’t need to question whether she wanted to join them; of course she did. For their first night out, there was no chance of her moving too far from her brother’s side. As she moved through the crowd, she became aware of the adrenaline coursing through her body and realized for the first time she was feeling this because of excitement instead of fear. The line at the bar was at least five people deep, so Darcy braved the crowd while Pietro and Wanda remained a little ways back, off to the side where Darcy would be able to find them again.

“Enjoying yourself?” Pietro asked.

She nodded to avoid having to yell over the music, though away from the dance floor it was much easier for them to hear one another. 

“This place is great,” she said. “You look like you’re having fun.” 

“I am. I’m looking forward to doing this more often.”

“And going to the movies,” Wanda added. “Maybe out to dinner.” 

“There are hundreds of places we could go.” His voice was eager and excited. “We could actually get to learn about the city. Go to the museums and all the shit that people do here.”

Wanda could barely imagine that. Getting to see the sights as though they were like every other resident of the city. Actually getting excited for whichever movies were coming out in the future. Going out with Darcy and maybe the others too. Not feeling like they were trapped. Having a real life. It was hard to even imagine.

In a way, she was grateful when Darcy appeared beside them with three cups that she handed around. It meant that she was able to pull back her emotions and not do something silly like cry in the middle of the club. Glancing at her brother, she could tell that it wasn’t only her and he rested his free hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Darcy, meanwhile, had slipped a flask out of her pocket and added liberal amounts of whatever was inside to each of the cups.

“Don’t worry,” she assured them. “It’s just some rum. I figured we should have a little fun on New Year’s Eve.”

“Couldn’t we get in trouble?” Wanda asked a bit warily.

“Nah, no one’s looking for this sorta thing,” Darcy assured her. “As long as none of us don’t get drunk, it’ll be fine.” 

Wanda took a tentative sip. The thought of being intoxicated in public was a bit worrying, given everything, but hadn’t she just wanted to be normal, like everyone else? This was what people did on New Year’s and she had plenty of people looking out for her. Everything would be fine.

“I’d ask if I could buy you a drink but you seem to already have one,” a pleasant voice said from her right. 

Wanda tensed automatically as she shifted her eyes towards him. The last thing she wanted was to draw any attention to herself, particularly given that she was currently drinking a rum and coke and underage, and this guy seemed to be aware of it. But he didn’t look like a narc or an asshole, as far as she could tell from initial glances. His blue eyes looked friendly but not hungry and his smile when she met his gaze was genuine. With his close-cropped dark hair and casual clothes, she estimated him to be around the same age as her, if maybe a few years older. 

“That’s a kind offer,” she said, when she couldn’t come up with any other words to respond. 

“I try,” he said, taking a sip out of his own cup. “I haven’t seen you around here before but I guess that’s pretty much on par for the New Year. This your first time at the club?” 

“It is,” she said, seeing no reason to lie about that. “I recently moved here and a friend wanted to take me out.” 

“There’s a lot of good places to celebrate New Year’s. Seems your friend’s got some good taste to choose this one.” He offered her his hand. “Sorry, I should probably introduce myself. The name’s Ryan.”

“Anna,” she said, accepting the offered hand and shaking it. “It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.” 

“Likewise. I’m hoping I see you around here more often.” He glanced over his shoulder and made a face. “It seems I’m being summoned by my friends. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for you on the club scene.”

Wanda watched as he walked away to join a group of guys standing a little ways away, almost in the corner. Their body language suggested they were giving Ryan a hard time for wandering off to chat up a girl but something about the way all three of them kept glancing over set her nerves on edge, especially when coupled with his parting words. Her surge of anxiety must have been palpable, given that a moment later her brother was beside her.

“Wa - ” Pietro barely caught himself before correcting, “Anna. Is everything okay? Was that guy giving you any trouble?”

“No,” she said slowly, then took a long sip of her drink to cover up the fact that she couldn’t think of how to describe what just happened. 

Almost immediately, she regretted her choice, as the alcohol burned her throat and reminder her of its presence. She cursed herself for not thinking through her actions because if something were wrong, she didn’t need to be drunk on top of everything.

“Then what?” Pietro pressed. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He just came over and said hello and introduced himself to me. That’s not weird for New Year’s Eve, right?”

“Right,” Pietro agreed, as though he’d had much experience with New Year’s Eve dating rituals. “That’s not weird at all.” 

Wanda tried to focus on her brother’s words but she couldn’t quite shake the sense of unease. When she glanced over at where Ryan’s group had been and found they were gone, she tried to tell herself that was a good thing. By the time she’d finished her rum and coke, she almost believed it. 

Pietro tugged her back to the dance floor, as Darcy moved closer to where Thor and Jane were and took both of them as her new dance partners. Within moments, Wanda was no longer focused on Ryan or the potential meaning behind his actions. While Pietro had none of her innate dancing ability, his enthusiasm was more than enough to keep her entertained. Forget everything that could happen, Wanda wasn’t about to let these types of opportunities go. Fear had kept both of them trapped for too long.

For now, Wanda just wanted to get lost in the music.

-~-

Ever since telling Steve about his suicide attempt, Bucky felt oddly calm. It didn’t entirely make sense to him, given how rough the conversation had been, especially when coupled with his heart-to-heart with Becca, but it was there. He’d initially wondered if it was more of a numbness or had a dissociative quality but it didn’t seem to. It was more that the concept of actually feeling calm, especially after such a bit moment, was completely foreign to him. He was so used to running on constant adrenaline and anxiety that to not feel that was almost nerve-wracking in some ways. That had been a constant in his life. Now it was as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders and he was free of it.

He couldn’t quite tell whether he was more afraid of it rushing back in, like an uninvited guest, or the possibility that it might not. Dr. Jones had talked to him before about how strange and even frightening recovery could feel. While he didn’t think he was anywhere close to reaching that point yet, just taking this step felt weird.

Even his sleep had been better, without the nightmares catching up with him, or his thoughts keeping him awake for hours before he fell asleep and then intermittently throughout the night whenever he did wake up. Part of that might have been that he had the combination of Steve and Winter with him, both of whom made him feel calmer, but he linked a big part of it to his disclosure to Steve. 

Part of it was the fact that Steve hadn’t run away screaming. Bucky hadn’t thought he would but the fear had still been there. That was the biggest thing he’d told Steve and he felt certain that if Steve could handle that, there wasn’t anything that would lead to Steve leaving him. He could tell that Steve had been shaken but he wasn’t looking at Bucky any differently or treating him like he was fragile and volatile and potentially dangerous. That was more than Bucky could have hoped for.

The two of them had discussed several options for New Year’s Eve, including going out to the clubs, before deciding that staying in was the best option. While going out definitely would have been a big step forward and a challenge for him, Bucky recognized that between the likely drunkenness that would develop, the managing of crowds, loud noises, and overall intensity of the sensory experiences, he would be lucky to walk away just feeling drained and fighting off a migraine. Putting his body through that didn’t seem to be worth it.

It wasn’t entirely easy to reframe that decision to stay in as a valid measure of self-care. He still contemplated whether on some level that was a justification for avoidance. While being mindful of that, he also reflected on other exposure activities he could engage in over the next few days once they were back in DC. Avoiding activities that could be overwhelming or draining was an appropriate decision, as long as he worked towards challenging himself in other ways. 

Now, the two of them actually had the entire house to themselves. His youngest siblings were off to friends’ houses for a New Year’s Eve sleepover and his parents were out at dinner and a show and not expected to return until the early hours of the morning. Becca’s boyfriend had picked her up at the house earlier to go to Times Square and Bucky had the opportunity to play concerned big brother while meeting him. He’d legitimately liked the guy, at least from their few minutes of interaction, and Becca seemed pleased to have the opportunity to introduce him to Bucky.

As the evening went on, Bucky and Steve easily slipped into their usual routine – moving around each other in the kitchen as they cooked dinner and then defaulting to eating their dinner on the couch, as they often did at Steve’s apartment, rather than at the table. Winter stayed nearby, curling up on the floor by where Bucky sprawled out on the couch. Between having Winter close enough to touch and Steve tucked under his arm and pressed against his side, Bucky felt 100% safe. The idea of that surprised him, given that he couldn’t remember the last time he felt _this_ safe, as though nothing could touch him. Even when he’d felt safe and comfortable before, there had always been something at the back of his mind to trigger at least a low level of anxiety. Now there was nothing. He was in the present moment, not stuck between ruminating on the past or worrying about the future. Everything felt genuinely okay. 

Steve seemed to be on the same page, given that he nuzzled his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. “This is nice.”

“You know what else would be nice?” Bucky said. “Going up on the roof.”

The thought had been playing around in his mind all day. When he was a kid, he’d always enjoyed the fact that his bedroom window opened right up onto the overhang over the porch. He’d climbed through the window, often accompanied by Becca in the early years and Natasha in the later years. In particular, he’d enjoyed having the opportunity to smoke out there, given that his parents refused to let him smoke in the house. Somehow it just felt right to bring Steve out there on this night and share that experience with him.

“Going up on the roof?” Steve repeated. “We can do that?”

“Hell yeah we can. My window goes right out to a little ledge. Perfectly safe. We bring up some blankets, maybe a bottle of champagne, and we’re good to go.”

Steve grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Which was how, 15 minutes later, Bucky found himself settled on the roof. Both he and Steve had dressed as warmly as they could and then brought out two blankets to wrap themselves up in. The blankets helped, although Bucky was already warm enough with Steve pressed against his side. The night air burned his throat and there was already frost on the roof around them but he didn’t mind. He kept an eye on Steve’s breathing, of course, to make certain he wasn’t heading towards an asthma attack. For the time being at least, Steve seemed to be fine.

Bucky could see his breath with each exhalation and found himself suddenly nostalgic for a cigarette. That had been a habit of his for so long, made worse during his time in the military. The only reason he’d quit had been because Natasha wouldn’t let him smoke in the townhouse and he’d been too anxious to step outside for a cigarette. Probably a good thing, given Steve’s asthma, but something he still missed at times. 

“It’s so quiet,” Steve commented, reaching over to pick up the opened bottle of champagne and take a drink. “I mean, obviously there’s still the noises of the city but somehow it seems different up here.”

“Doesn’t it? That was what I always loved about it. Being out here gave me a chance to clear my head and see things in a different way.”

For a few moments, there was silence between them as they passed the bottle back and forth. The alcohol took ahold almost immediately. He could feel himself relaxing even more. It was hard to put himself in his shoes of a year ago, when everything felt hopeless and meaningless, when now he didn’t feel like he was being eaten up inside or slowly drowning. It was hard to reflect on all of the things he would have missed, like this moment, sitting here in the peace and quiet with someone he loved. 

Steve’s head rested on his shoulder, his breath warm against Bucky’s neck, a sharp contrast to the winter air surrounding them. The alcohol burned a path from his throat to stomach, making him even warmer.

“Got your resolution planned and ready to go?” Steve asked, finally breaking the silence. 

“I just might. Isn’t that something you don’t tell anyone about though?” Bucky asked. “Like a birthday wish or something?”

“I can never remember that sorta thing,” Steve said with a chuckle. “It could be.” 

“I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter since it’s not a wish,” Bucky reasoned. “It’s nothing too big. I’m considering looking into college classes at some point, maybe in the next year, but that’s kinda on the back burner. I’ve been thinking more about what I need to do for me and I might have come to a decision about something I’ve been avoiding for awhile.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Steve asked.

“When I first started therapy, my doc told me about a couple of treatments for PTSD. I wasn’t ready to consider them back then because they’re both pretty intense but I was thinking that once I was more settled and back into the routine of work and everything else, I might revisit that possibility. Supposedly the research says that once you go through those treatments, a lot of your symptoms go away. The nightmares and flashbacks and stuff get less and less and you’re more able to live a normal life again. Since things are fairly good now and I feel stable, I figured that once I got back into work and that wasn’t new or a stressor, I could see if that might be a possibility.”

There was a long silence following those words. Bucky automatically felt some tension begin to creep in as his thoughts shifted to a more negative direction. What if Steve didn’t think he was ready for that sort of thing? What if, even worse, Steve was right about that? After all, Bucky had just told him about what happened the last time he got low and things got overwhelming. What if Steve thought those treatments might put him back in the same place?

But all of that was ridiculous. Bucky had thought long and hard about this possibility over the past few days. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t receive feedback from Dr. Jones about his perception of Bucky’s readiness for treatment. If there were any concerns, they would be addressed and Dr. Jones had believed Bucky could handle introducing the topic back when they first started to work together. If he could handle discussing it then, he could handle taking that step now.

“Holy shit, Buck,” Steve finally murmured, and Bucky couldn’t quite figure out what that meant. “I’m so proud of you.” 

All of those worries instantly fell away, and the knot that had been developing in Bucky’s chest releases entirely. Steve believed in him and thought he could handle this. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “You’ve come so far in just the couple of months I’ve known you and you’re not letting it stop there. I couldn’t be any prouder.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Even if I don’t go through it?”

“Even then. The fact that you’re considering it is enough.”

For the first time, Bucky’s mind didn’t rebel at that idea. If Steve didn’t believe those words, he wouldn’t have said them. When it came time to choose, if Bucky didn’t feel ready he didn’t have to push himself further than he felt comfortable. That wouldn’t mean he’d failed, it would mean he’d evaluated the situation and made a decision.

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly. “How about you?” 

Without hesitation, Steve said, “I’d like to get myself and the shop to a place where I could buy it out from Stark. While it’s been great to have his support when everything got messed up and I definitely couldn’t have made ends meat on my own, I don’t want to continue being indebted to him. When he first broached the idea of a tattoo shop to me, I wasn’t sure that was what I could see myself doing for the long term but I was open to earning some more money. Now that I can see myself staying at Shield post graduation, I’d like for the shop to actually be mine.”

Bucky couldn’t entirely figure out how he felt about the idea. On the one hand, the thought of Stark not being involved was oddly satisfying but at the same time, he’d recognized how much help Stark had given them over the past few months. Still, he could see Steve’s point of wanting to own his own shop if he continued to stay there.

“Good to know that I’ll have continued job security,” was the response he finally settled on. “Seeing as I was hoping to stay on for the foreseeable future.”

“As if I’d let you go anywhere,” Steve said with a grin, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s throat. “You’re stuck with me.” 

Bucky had to admit he liked the sound of that, though the words surprised him. He’d always felt, on some level, as though it was Steve who was stuck with him, rather than the other way around. He kept mulling over those words as they stayed out on the roof until he felt Steve start shivering, as they moved inside and into the shower until they could properly feel their fingers and toes again, and then wrapped themselves up in blankets and resumed their previous place on the couch. Those words stayed in his head as the two of them finished a second bottle of champagne and shortly after watching the ball drop on TV, Steve drifted off to sleep against him.

He tried not to wake him as he carefully scooped him into his arms and carried him upstairs, Winter padding along obediently behind him. Steve still felt mostly like skin and bones, almost fragile, although Bucky knew by now that was far from the case. He barely stirred as Bucky got him settled in bed and tucked in. It wasn’t until he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and met his own gaze in the mirror that he found himself almost shocked.

His eyes no longer looked quite as haunted and hollow. All of the tension in his jaw had disappeared at some point and his lips were even edging towards a smile. It wasn’t that he’d been avoiding his reflection or he hadn’t seen himself in the mirror in awhile. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system making him see things differently this time around but he didn’t care. Slowly, he tugged off his long-sleeved shirt, curious to see how far this transformation went. 

The sight of his metal arm didn’t hit him the same way it used to. That had been a change for awhile, ever since Steve painted it, but even catching sight of the scars covering his shoulder didn’t leave him feeling vaguely sickened when the metal itself didn’t cause that reaction. He turned his arm from side to side, watching his movements and how the light glinted off the metal, and inexplicably his smile had widened by the time he looked back at his reflection in the mirror. 

This was who he was. It wasn’t something that was going to change and that was okay. He was okay. He wasn’t broken or damaged. He was changed and he could never go back to who he used to be, but that didn’t have to be a horrible thing. The person he was now was the person Steve had fallen in love with. That had to count for something. 

He was still smiling when he curled up in bed beside Steve a few minutes later. Steve murmured something, Bucky’s name perhaps, before shifting closer and burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s throat. Comforted by the feeling of Steve’s slow, even breaths, sleep came easily to Bucky. He was pretty sure the smile hadn’t faded by that point.

-~-

The sound of buzzing woke him up. Bucky first thought that there might be a bug in the room, though his sleep hazed mind recognized that made little sense given that it was December – no, January. He cracked his eyes open, willing them to focus in the hopes that once the blurry forms in the room came into view, he’d grasp what was going on. The area beside him on the bed remained warm and as his mind started to catch up, he recognized Steve’s voice.

“When? Which one? That’s right, you said that.” 

Bucky frowned, trying to make sense of those words. Steve couldn’t be talking to him, which meant… which meant he was on the phone and the buzzing had been his phone vibrating. He propped himself up on one elbow, uncertain of whether he should say anything or wait until Steve got off of the phone. Something in Steve’s voice worried him; there was a level of anxiety there that he wasn’t used to hearing from Steve. Steve might not always be calm or level-headed but when he wasn’t, his primary mode of operating seemed to be anger, at least in Bucky’s experience. Sounding this worried meant that something was wrong. Something must have happened.

“Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

With that, Steve hung up. Bucky tried to convince his mind to focus and function enough to form words, a difficulty on his best of days immediately after waking up, and likely made harder by the lack of sleep and definite potential that he was still half-drunk from the previous evening. 

When he couldn’t form a full sentence, he settled on Steve’s name. Then, after a moment, managed to add, “What’s goin’ on?” 

By that point, Steve had found his jeans and tugged them on and was searching for his wallet and keys – or at least that was what Bucky assumed, given that Steve kept muttering those two words to himself. When he started to question where his phone was, Bucky forced himself into a sitting position entirely.

“Your phone’s in your hand. Steve, what’s wrong?” 

“I was so fuckin’ stupid, Buck,” Steve said, and despite his use of Bucky’s name, the tone of voice suggested he was talking more to himself. “I shouldn’t have come.” 

Bucky tried not to take that comment personally but he couldn’t help the stabbing pain in his chest that accompanied those words. He reminded himself that something was wrong, otherwise Steve wouldn’t be talking like that, at least not unless Bucky had seriously misjudged their relationship, not to mention their past several days spent together. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?” he repeated once more to see if maybe, finally Steve would start telling him what all of this was about.

That repetition seemed to trigger something, given that Steve looked up and met Bucky’s gaze. His eyes were bright and steely and although his jaw was tight, Bucky could see the faintest tremble as Steve tried to keep himself composed and controlled. That control was slipping, which said to Bucky that whatever was going on, it was really, really bad.

“I’ve gotta get back to DC, Buck. My mom’s in the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you will find this a satisfying conclusion to this story, despite the ending. I have to keep some suspense going into the sequel, after all. 
> 
> Thank you all for joining me on this journey. This past year was easily one of the hardest years of my life and telling this story really meant a lot to me during those moments where things did not seem so positive or actively felt hopeless. Over the course of writing this, I slipped into one of the deepest and darkest depressions I have eve rbeen in, got the worst news I could have imagined getting, had to have emergency surgery and was hospitalized three times, got the best news I could have imagined getting, got married, went on my honeymoon, moved into my first house, and found that my life became better and more fulfilling than I could have imagined when I started this fic. Thanks to this fic, I have also had the opportunity to make quite a few new friends and I am also eternally grateful for that as well.
> 
> The sequel is on its way and I am hoping that within the next week, the first chapter of that will be uploaded. It is going to start approximately a month after where this fic ends and, as I have said before, it will be more heavily focused on the twins, Clint, Natasha, and Tony, although everyone else (and some new faces, such as Kate Bishop, Bruce Banner, and Betty Ross, as well as briefly shown faces, such as Coulson and Barney) will be making appearances. I am ridiculously excited for this fic. I will mention that the tone will be much darker and the story will deal with a lot of the repercussions to actions and situations developed in this one, such as the increase in mob activity in the city, Natasha's Russian connection, and Talbot's search for the twins.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever want to say hello or check in on the progress of future chapters, you can find me on Tumblr @ theshadowandthetrickster


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